THE SWALLOW

I sometimes feel that I'm sobbing in my sleep,
and I can't say why,
or I forget the reason when I wake up.
Every time I want to open my eyes, explode
in front of them, all the headlines from the papers.
That I could wake from poem!
Pinned down to a spot, toungless,
I begin to yell, and then chant, c h a n t my poems. 
And at times I'm making love with someone
who has no face, or I fail to remember who it was.
Some of them, the dreams, go back to childhood,
the war hasn't broken out, my mothers still living
and all people I know haven't yet left the land.
These dreams hark back to a distant time, beyond memory...
Then, suddenly, I'm flying somewhere in my sleep
f l y  f l y f l y i n g, I'm flying.
But I can't tell where I am.
Which city? Which room and which bed?
Should I lie on my right or on my left
and whose dream-language should I use
when I answer their questions?

I'm getting confused about the birds in the sky :
Was it a turtledove? Nooo, a lark may be, a swallow
yes it was, it was a swallow, I know,
there on the verandah of our home in Lefka...
	[what? did I say our  h o m e ?]

Sometimes I find myself sobbing in my dreams.