Dream

They ask you to dream

But is it so wise to dream?

For what does a dream do?

It lies forgotten in your drawers

It remains unposted in that envelope

It gathers dust with days and years

And it stinks rotten with old age

And then someday it dies

Why is it so good to dream, why is it so wise?

Afternoon

I love an afternoon

Served hot with the day’s sun

On a flat and empty day

When it lies under the fan

Cooling off in my verandah

While I take a sip of it

Wondering where would my hours go?

To a Morrison or maybe to a Capote