I dreamed
that we were children again
sitting on the grass
holding up our heads
so that no Perseid would fall
without our gaze
in those cold summer nights
garlands of drops
on thin branches
touching the sun
rays pulsing
with orange light
I saw it again
People would come to our home
as if from nowhere
leaving something bright behind
a little sweet
a little bitter
blood was real
muscles
sweat
and dust
I enter my own head
and feel freedom
it doesn’t matter
if it only seems so
it is more soothing
than thinking about cracks in the wall
I see a hill
and behind it a forest
mushroom picking
wild berries
the world
had the scent of honey
from grandfather’s bees
I hear the echo
from a deep well
that always answered
that was our time
do you remember
the taste of cherries
sweet and sour
growing in our garden
laughter on the stubble
after harvest
potatoes roasted
in the fire
I know
that you remember too
Mar 17
Mar 17, 2026 at 2:49 PM UTC
I dreamed
that we were children again
sitting on the grass
holding up our heads
so that no Perseid would fall
without our gaze
in those cold summer nights
garlands of drops
on thin branches
touching the sun
rays pulsing
with orange light
I saw it again
People would come to our home
as if from nowhere
leaving something bright behind
a little sweet
a little bitter
blood was real
muscles
sweat
and dust
I enter my own head
and feel freedom
it doesn’t matter
if it only seems so
it is more soothing
than thinking about cracks in the wall
I see a hill
and behind it a forest
mushroom picking
wild berries
the world
had the scent of honey
from grandfather’s bees
I hear the echo
from a deep well
that always answered
that was our time
do you remember
the taste of cherries
sweet and sour
growing in our garden
laughter on the stubble
after harvest
potatoes roasted
in the fire
I know
that you remember too
Request permission to use this poem