I buy dreams
Big and small
Yellow blue and green
With the joy of a fairground
Affixed to the tail of a red kite or
In the paper boat swaying on the pond

I buy hopes
Written on rose patels
The hidden and innocent wishes
Resonating in childrens’ laughs
Rolling on green prairie
Those as light as summer rain
And thin as the fog that sets on the valley at night

I buy the yearning to a cup of hot tea
In the hands of a little girl back from playing snowball
The yearning to say ‘’I am home’’
In the arms of the beloved one after a long journey

The Woman in the Window:

What a weird street-vendor you are
You buy our dreams
Instead of old clothes and kitchen stuff
Do you ever make good money?

The Street-Vendor:

What I do is actually pro bono
I swear god punish me
If I make more than a few cents
I feel ashamed to say
But some dumbheads buy the dreams and hopes
What they do not know is
They are more fragile than crystal trinkets
Break with a mild autumn breeze and
Even when you hold them to see
Shatter into pieces
Impossible to glue back
Splinters prick your skin
Like a million needles
They find their way inside
Up to your heart
Remain there motionless
Waiting for an opportunity to rise
When one is alone
Before going to sleep
Even in the bathroom
They rise up and
You are soaked in blood
They do not kill
But carve you inside

The Woman in the Window:

What can I say Mister Vendor
I wish you luck and success in what you do
I have neither a dream
Nor a hope that
I keep to myself with jealousy
Stay safe.

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2 thoughts on “DIALOGUE WITH A STREET-VENDOR (Sep 22, 2019)

  1. Without hope or dreams, yet in contact with where they go, and how they are dispersed. It is sad, concise and beautiful all at once.

  2. ❤ I am thinking of a story about that, I mean what happens when not only person, but a town, maybe a whole country loses their dreams

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