The Scream | The Psychoanalysis of A Dream

by | Nov 27, 2017 | Poetry | 0 comments

I belong to no country
you may war against,
and tomorrow’s place
I find, for my head,
under your military boots,
and the roaring thunder
of your steel shaking my ground.

I belong to no race,
where a color mismatch
can take your reason away,
and all your eyes can see
is but a shade of who I am;
and you pull a trigger
and kill all that can be killed
in me, except for a soul
whose color I share with you all,
I don’t expect you to see;
you are already color blind.

I belong to no religion,
in whose choice of god
has conflicted with yours,
and by killing me you are
killing every possible chance
we might, one day,
find out all along we have
been living under the same sun;
worshipping the same god.
You cannot understand—
you are the almighty
passing judgments and sentencing
people to death without a warrant,
like the many leaves in fall
you and I or anyone
might be the yellow ones.

I belong to no man
no country
no race
no religion;
I belong to you,
and you do belong
to me.
I am simply a man
and if that you cannot understand,
go ahead and kill me brother
and pretend
whatever you may want to pretend—
for I will haunt you,
and you will find me—
every night in your nightmarish dreams;
and know when you killed me
you had just killed yourself.


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