Janelle, they don’t believe in magic, but I do.
There’s a reason we humans stubbornly duel for a label,
a label that illustrates us
as an adjective.
Black, Hindu, Chinese, Banker;
adjectives designated by humans who craved to substantiate their supremacy
Our conundrum thus lies at this world’s cause
they won’t recite our story till it’s worth reciting,
our story won’t be worth reciting if they keep it to a tattle
Only if they recognized that our terse exchange
was aloft any label,
the kind that makes every transitory second execute like an eternal sobriety battle.
I attest it as a dream and not as a conversation or a memory, moment;
conversations are to be valued
moments to be lived
memories to be cherished,treasured
dreams are meant to be enticing, they are everything.
They are to be chased.
I don’t aspire to make this a quest ,
I just hope to perceive you
A migrant only hopes to reach his next asylum, not build his house or decorate his home.
That would be a dream.
I know the ‘us’ doesn’t sheen bright
and doesn’t sound right.
But that’s the magic,
a magic with words which I intentionally, should write.
So hey, let there be drama and let them call this lame.
I have had the balls without alcohol in my brain.
Hours, Days, Months or Years from now,
Sun will be slightly less bright
World borders a scantly less wide
Or it could be a surrogate Boat Quay night
kismet would be compelled to find you,
Because they don’t believe in magic, but I do.
Hi, My name is Julian Dalbert and Guess what, I’m back!