😩I am 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.
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 a two.
On my wooden abacus, there I slide the beads,
Red, Blue, Yellow, Green,
There pops out the numbers in colors,
In my twinged mind filled with confusion.
These all that gives what’s equal,
Trying to confuse my mind even more,
What I may say about it –
I and the world of digits don’t get along very well,
I prefer the formulations
That emanates from 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 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. Flamed out.
There stood I pale and incensed,
With my mind blowing out nums;
Blowing out nums I don’t logicize.
My mind’s nestle the mistake of logic,
Logic that strays into that dreamer’s eyes,
Eyes that’s black contoured of fatigue
And of the concentration to answer
to nullify or equalize,
I found it was all of a nightmare
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 them count,
My bed is still a mess when days break
And my heart pulls out like daunt
Seriously thinking that it’s no fun
I slide the colorful playful beads
On the wooden abacus that still sits
In a little corner of a white office
Whose circled panes seem to miss
Of the warmth of the throning sun
In the end, with the abacus at hand
I teach un-merry to the curious child
Some calculations that seem to bend
Unrevealed matrices that openly hide
More of coming formulations undone
The abacus sits in the corner of a desk
Alongside some books and other carnets;
Carnets that the child curiously open
Happy now am I, till the coming dusk
To read merrily, holding my pen.