A City of Dreams

I pray of You tonight for a city of dreams, one where a wise man can ease his aching bones and halt his aimless running through this endless, tiring path – wandering, pondering deeply of the origin of this protrusive rubbish that protrudes prominently from the concrete beneath my bare feet concealed within thick, crimson red. Concrete’s ruggedness pries one bruised foot from another, a dark red splattered everywhere; and yet, I search for a city of dreams as if somewhere, in that heavenly city of dreams, from You, exists a purpose, for return, for these bones and body of mine to rest. Far from my true origin, I seek a brand new life away from endless, accursed persecution. Away from religious assault and endless strife among similar peoples with slightly differing ideals. Red- brown sand to dusty concrete floors, I reminisce of my origin, of my home back in desert lands, of statues of cats to dreams and history inscribed in ancient text, and linen-covered bones. And here I am, surrounded by traffic lights and streets; from my right waves a rusted copper woman with a torch, and from my left points inhabitants from other lands within this endless country. Up and down and left and right, my trembling bones fear pursuers amongst myself – hunting dogs that stink of red blood running through their pitch-black German coats. Dreams of families tied into religion is their prey – their food. Our origin is their litter box; they see our very origin as worthless – useless – pitilessly removing us from our very home and land, from our precious dreams and friends and family. These hunting dogs are endless; bound by these chains of religion and family, their sullied red- blood paws rip apart our purpose in living, our very lives and bones— And suddenly, I awake from this trance of oppression, my aching bones and sobbing heart disrupted by an unfamiliar setting, my origin darker than this white, brightly-lit room. My hardened red hands lay on what seems to be a bed and gadget from this land. I remove these wires and hear an endless beep. My bruises healed, unlike my dreams. A young nurse suddenly clutches my red, bloody hands. I am hurt badly from leaving my origin. And now, suddenly, pain steps up to sing a song that sounds endless, playing my bones like a guitar. A fleeting freedom that hurts – a city of dreams.