Mug of café-au-lait and my new favorite notebook.

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The Sequential Dream I Made Of An Abacus

The sequential dream I made of an abacus
I try to count
One two three four five six — 
Learning calculation,
Take that one bead I found
And plus one more around
There you are, it makes two digits.
On my wooden abacus I slide the beads,
Red Blue Yellow Green —
Learning calculation.
There pops out the numbers in colours,
In my twinged mind filled with confusion.
The sum of all that gives what’s equal
Trying to confuse my mind even more,
I and the world of digits don’t get along very well,
I prefer the formulations
That emanate from the alphabets.
The arithmetician tried to show me 
The realm of all his calculations —
Ideas that intersect to make a web,
The power of the alphanumeric.
But my mind dreams in images,
Which is so much less boring 
Than the mathematician’s integers;
But then, what secrets link those that see
Beyond the forms of things,
Spit out, beyond the numbers, 
Chewed out, beyond the sentences.
There I stood, pale and incensed
With my mind blowing out numbers
Blowing out numbers that I can’t logicize.
My mind nestle the mistake of logic,
Logic that strays into that dreamer’s eyes
Eyes that’s black contoured with fatigue
And of the concentration to answer
To multiply, equalise, to nullify.
I then found that it was a nightmare —
With my abacus in my bare hands
I try to count, dreamily senseless.
The abacus sits on the corner of a desk
The child needs me to help with counting,
My bed is still a mess when day breaks
And my heart pulls out like daunt
Seriously thinking that it’s no fun.
I slide the colourful playful beads
On the wooden abacus that still sits
In a little corner of a white office
Whose circled panes seem to miss
The warmth of the throning sun.
In the end, with the abacus in my hand
I teach unenthusiastically to the curious child
Some calculations that seem to bend
Unrevealed matrices that openly hide
More of these undone formulations.
The abacus sits in the corner of a desk
Alongside some books and other carnets
Carnets that the child curiously open,
Happy now I am, till the coming of dusk
Reading merrily, holding my pen, writing.

😩I am very busy these days — helping my children with their lessons at home, writing, and masterminding new plans. And yes, my dreams are often very weird… most of the time with calculations, which in reality are my worst nightmare, for I have a sort of dyscalculia .

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