The quiet little government official
finished with her list, walked out into
the dazzling sunshine, realized the
splendours in her mind must be
packed away till the end of day
when her work is done, wondered
about the origin of the song that
kept playing in the deepest corner
of her mind, waiting for the images
dancing on the edge of conscious-
ness to stabilise and make their
presence clearly known
Braving the storm of letters to be
rendered in a foreign tongue so
the President’s minions could take
a look at it, the world grinding to
a halt, voices falling silent, no tears
to be shed for old passions cold and
dead, waiting for new visions to
create a new dream in her heart,
the stories always come, the eternal
spiral of fantasy always turns into a
new carousel on which a new
ride starts…
*
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