Those paths I brushed <br />With the feet of a child - where have they gone ? <br />They roll down as tears do, hushed, <br />Out of the eyes, down, down. <br /> <br />The freshness of morning would wake me up. <br />The sun would be painting a masterpiece. <br />A golden coast - a golden pup, <br />A golden guitar - a golden precipice. <br /> <br />Stare. Stare sufficiently into the light <br />From the midst of a great silence, and in a while <br />You are bound to see a camel shining bright, <br />A bright-eyed robber with a glistening smile. <br /> <br />At breakfast the table became a desert. I stared <br />Till I rode the camel and I saw the gleaming thief. <br />Father, assured of his safety, never despaired <br />But read his paper calmly, rustling a leaf. <br /> <br />A triple rainbow embroidered the carafe, <br />The tablecloth, the cupboard, father's moustache. <br />A wasp, entangled in the lace curtains, would laugh <br />And the curtains laughed too, their threads in the sun, a bright patch. <br /> <br />And the rich floor, dreamily glittering, mirrored it all <br />The leaves of the palm shone brighter at the back <br />But melted shallowly, and a thin glaze would fall <br />As if someone had spilled greenery by mistake. <br /> <br />The arm-chair sipping its own velvet peace <br />Would grow heavier, comfortably, I think. <br />The sugar would plot for a blue spark's release <br />And the loaf of bread would turn pink. <br /> <br />The clock shakes free of its long compressed coils and booms <br />A prolonged note through the hall to the sky. <br />In that furnished day-dreaming among the sunny rooms <br />Everybody endures and does not die. <br /> <br />But something happened: something went wrong. <br />The same clock struck, but shyly, in another town. <br />The soul stumbled over the body that had grown too strong, <br />And they began to die, one by one.<br /><br />Boleslaw Lesmian<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/memories-486/
