Legend of two selves, two sides of self in
Same mortal vessel, one in body toiling,
Dawn waking, daily life upon high steppe,
Shepherds, nomadic wanderers, foreign
Merchants, following trade routes. Lives
Not their own, yet slave no man, these
Men, women were dreamers, sunlight
Walkers, listening, conversing with moonlit
Roaming self. Bedtime stories first told
To children, later revered by tribal elders,
Poor and rich alike, lonely on cold nights.
What are we without dreams? Sleeping
And waking dreams of better life, latter
Oft more disappointment, aspirations
Never met, fates, enfeebled by illness,
Desires death-taken, dreams of what
Could have been, seeds sown in hearts
And minds, yet cast upon barren earth.
Familiar stories told around campfires,
Drinking goats milk, “I had always dreamt
Of…” aspirations rising-smoke lost.
Tonight, I listen to my dream-self. “I am
here, Cosimia. What wisdom you share?
What worlds do you reckon whilst I traverse
Trading routes? My waking life’s journey,
My other side of self, we both travel vast
Landscapes, wind-waving grassy heights,
Worlds unfolding, horizon-distant, blue
Skies, scudding clouds, plodding camel or
Galloping horseback, strange happenings,
Exotic destinations inside, outside my mind,
Other Cosimia just beyond my reach.
Typically, Cosimia lives in two worlds, concepts of plurality
reflected in her poetry. Thanks for reading.