“Duna Library”

In dreams I return to

where my writing grew:

a dilapidated library and

a disorderly circle of chairs

filled by people completely

different to me.


I dream of the cadences

of a language I do not know,

with clicks and rhymes

that carried my mind

to a picture of a land

unknown by privilege.


I dream of kindness

and community beyond

the borders of a township

on a hill as the sun set,

catching a wave of cloud

with a thousand colours.


Because of that old library

with hardly any books and

only a small circle of poets,

instead of the black and

white of ages past,

I dream in sunset colours.

One thought on ““Duna Library”

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