The Weaver of Dreams
Jonathan Chibuike Ukah
Perhaps this is the moment of endless glory,
when you become the wonder and joy of our time,
a blossoming flower, a piece of diamond
that glitters when darkness snakes out
the manacled mind of men and women
imprisoned within the walls of their conscience;
a mosaic of the beautiful and the powerful;
a delicious assemblage of magnificent oddities,
interspersed with excellence, a burgeoning dream.
Do not fear the intricate threads of your dreams
which you can weave into a sublime universe,
a sense of inimitable allure consuming your future
submerged in the cauldron of a looming light;
there is no such a thing as a dream killer
or the catcher of reality to kill peaceful sleep,
where dreams are at the farthest reaches of Heaven.
If you can sleep with your eyes closed,
or wake from a nightmare interrupting your dreams,
then you are the unalloyed handmaid of dreams,
able to choose your unadulterated realm of the mind
where the golden tentacles of purity and love
will have more than an ample universe to stroll;
when the moon casts its horror shadows over you,
you can spring out like the yellow tongue of a dandelion
to illuminate the dark crevices with your light.
If you persist in holding tight in weaving your dreams
into a garden of roses where no shade erupts,
now that the sun is smiling at you
and the rain has urged the stars to show you around,
the universe and the various elements of the galaxy,
will lie under your feet to command and control.