unripened dreams v2
listen on youtube or here
unripened dreams v1
listen on youtube or here
In my place, where you call it home
I'm Tending trapped in premature dreams
Harvested early from your fields
They're still nailed to bent walls, waiting to ripen
Waiting for sun, rain & a blessing from you
I let you peek into them if you could decipher my thoughts
Before the clock hands convert to digital
Accepting the discord without the fact
When the casting takes place
We switch role-playing
I'll be the useless signing off draft dreams
I sold copies of portraits in your sleeping moments
In its colorless phase
Time lies beside me, Comfortably num,b out of sync
Sugarcoating my self-esteem about my betrayal
I thought you were still around
But all I found were Unripened photos nailed to the wall
Under the canopy of bed sheets, A silhouette of you
But wait, wait
Everything is paused around me
And I’m waiting for the unusual to happen
Here in my place, you once called home
I'm tending to trapped premature dreams
Harvested early from your fields
They're still nailed to bent walls, waiting to ripen
Waiting for sun, rain & a blessing from you
But under the canopy of bed sheets
All I've got is a silhouette of you
And a wall full of unripened dreams
In my place, where you call it home
I'm Tending trapped in premature dreams
Harvested early from your fields
They're still nailed to bent walls, waiting to ripen
Waiting for sun, rain & a blessing from you
=
Unripened dreams and a silhouette of you
Premature dreams, Harvested from your fields
And all I've got is a silhouette of you
unripened dreams and a silhouette of you
=
March 27, 2023
lyrics & vocals by azdi404
music credit: how it feels by hamrah beats
============================
============================
unripened dreams v1 lyrics
In my place, you call home
tending trapped premature dreams,
harvested early from your fields
still nailed to bent walls, waiting to ripen
waiting for sun & rain & a blessing
I let you peek into them
if you could decipher my thoughts
before clock hands convert digital.
accepting the discords without the fact,
when the casting takes place
we switch role playing,
I'll be the useless
Signing off draft dreams,
I sold copies of portraits
in your sleeping moments
in its colorless phase
time lays beside me
comfortably numb out of sync
sugarcoating my self-esteem,
about my betrayal
I thought you were still around,
all I found was
unripened photos nailed to the wall,
under the canopy of bed sheets
a silhouette of you.
-
but wait
everything is paused around me
and I’m waiting for the unusual to happen
here In my place, you once called home
-
i'm tending trapped premature dreams,
harvested early from your fields
still nailed to bent walls, waiting to ripen
waiting for sun & rain & a blessing from you
but under the canopy of bed sheets
all i've got is a silhouette of you
and a wall full of unripened dreams
unripened dreams
and a sillouette of you
premature dreams
harvested from your fields.
all i've got is a sillhouette of you
=
March 27, 2023
lyrics & voice by azdi404
music credit: Licensor's Username:
https://
pixabay.com/users/nevernotdead-30940983/
Licensee:
u_khn7q8qm9g
Audio File Title:
The WaitAudio File URL:
https://pixabay.com/music/nostalgia-the-wait-138639/
Audio File ID:
138639
=========
Your poem “Unripened Dreams” is an elegy of stillness — a haunting depiction of emotional paralysis, where love, art, and memory remain suspended in their “premature” states. It reads like a meditation on what is almost fulfilled, yet never allowed to ripen — love arrested before maturity, inspiration stunted by absence, and identity frozen in the act of waiting.
It continues your thematic exploration of devotion, absence, and creation from earlier poems like “My Own Mecca” and “Sporadic Worship Thoughts,” but here the tone is quieter, more introspective. The setting is not sacred or celestial; it’s domestic and private — “my place, where you call it home” — and yet even this home has become a shrine of arrested time.
I. Form and Tone: A Ritual of Repetition and Waiting
Structurally, the poem relies on refrain and circular motion, especially in its closing stanzas:
In my place, where you call it home
I’m tending trapped in premature dreams
Harvested early from your fields...
This recurrence is more than stylistic; it enacts the stasis the poem describes. The speaker is caught in a loop — repeating gestures of care (“tending”), returning to the same imagery, unable to move beyond the point of emotional rupture.
The tone is hushed, resigned, and reverent — as though speaking to a ghost rather than a person. The result is a piece that feels like a liturgical lament, a ritual act of remembering what could not mature into love or life.
II. Central Metaphor: The “Unripened Dreams”
At the poem’s core is a powerful agrarian metaphor:
Harvested early from your fields / They’re still nailed to bent walls, waiting to ripen.
Here, “dreams” are imagined as fruits or crops — symbols of potential and nourishment — but taken too soon, before their time. “Harvested early” suggests both premature loss and impatience: something once alive has been plucked before fulfillment, now pinned and lifeless (“nailed to bent walls”).
The imagery of fields and walls juxtaposes openness and confinement: what was meant to grow under sunlight is now trapped indoors, suspended in time and memory. The “bent walls” imply the decay of the space itself — a warped home where dreams hang like relics.
This becomes an extended metaphor for unconsummated creativity or love — the poet’s imagination, or emotional world, cut off from its source of light (“sun, rain & a blessing from you”).
III. Temporal Dislocation: The Warped Sense of Time
Before the clock hands convert to digital
This line, brief but poignant, encapsulates the tension between organic and artificial time. The movement from “clock hands” to “digital” implies both technological modernity and emotional loss — the world has become mechanized, detached from the slow, natural rhythm that allows things (or people) to ripen.
In this transformation, human tenderness gives way to abstraction; time becomes data rather than duration. The speaker mourns not just the beloved but the very texture of living time.
Time lies beside me, comfortably numb out of sync
This is one of the poem’s most striking personifications. Time becomes a companion — lifeless, “comfortably numb,” anesthetized. The phrase recalls Pink Floyd’s existential numbness, suggesting mutual paralysis between speaker and time. Both exist, but neither moves.
IV. The Theme of Betrayal and Self-Perception
Sugarcoating my self-esteem about my betrayal
This ambiguous confession suggests internal conflict — perhaps the speaker feels guilty for emotional infidelity, or for abandoning a dream too soon, or for clinging to something that’s no longer alive.
The self-soothing (“sugarcoating”) mirrors the earlier “tending”: both are acts of maintenance of illusion, caring for something that’s already dead or dying.
It’s also possible that “betrayal” refers to the poet’s sense of failing his own ideal — of being unable to keep faith with his earlier devotion. The sugarcoating implies awareness of his own self-deception.
V. Imagery of the Domestic Shrine
Under the canopy of bed sheets, a silhouette of you
This intimate image transforms a mundane bedroom scene into a sacred relic. The “canopy” evokes both a bed and a chapel altar; the “silhouette” becomes an iconic absence — the outline of a body that no longer inhabits the space.
This reinforces the poem’s recurring motif: presence through absence. Laly (the absent muse or beloved) remains only as contour, shape, memory — and the speaker tends to these shadows as though they were living things.
The entire room becomes a museum of unrealized potential: the walls hung with “unripened photos,” the bed holding the faint ghost of a lover, and the speaker trapped inside this emotional mausoleum.
VI. The Role Reversal and Self-Erasure
We switch role-playing / I’ll be the useless signing off draft dreams
This is a crucial moment. The speaker relinquishes authorship, accepting his place as a discarded draft — an unfinished sketch in someone else’s creation. The “role-playing” suggests that love itself was performative, an act in which both parties played roles that could be abandoned at will.
The self-description as “useless” and “signing off” conveys a profound sense of creative exhaustion and self-erasure. It’s the poet stepping out of his own narrative, acknowledging the futility of continuing to edit or rewrite the past.
VII. The Emotional Core: Waiting and Repetition
But wait, wait / Everything is paused around me
And I’m waiting for the unusual to happen
This repetition (“wait, wait”) enacts the very act of waiting — it stretches time. The phrase “the unusual” signals a yearning for the miraculous, for some event that would break the paralysis. Yet the syntax collapses under its own inertia; nothing happens.
By the time the refrain returns at the end, the reader feels the weight of circular stasis — the poem has repeated itself, unchanged. The dreams are still “unripened,” the walls still “bent,” the silhouette still absent.
This looping structure suggests that the speaker has become part of the shrine — a caretaker of the static, a guardian of incompletion.
VIII. Symbolism Summary
| Symbol |
Meaning |
| Unripened dreams |
Unfulfilled love, unfinished art, or incomplete spiritual transformation. |
| Harvested early |
Premature endings — emotional or creative stillbirth. |
| Bent walls |
Warped memory, domestic decay, psychological confinement. |
| Silhouette |
Presence of absence; the ghost of intimacy. |
| Clock hands / digital |
Transition from organic to mechanical time — loss of natural rhythm. |
| Fields |
The beloved’s inner world or inspiration from which the speaker once drew life. |
IX. Stylistic and Structural Notes
-
Free verse — mirrors the looseness and emotional drift of the speaker’s mind.
-
Circular structure — reinforces the theme of repetition and paralysis.
-
Minimal punctuation and capitalization — creates a meditative, trance-like rhythm.
-
Plain diction with surreal undertones — domestic imagery slowly blurs into dreamscape.
-
Tone: Reflective, mournful, subdued — the quiet aftermath of devotion.
X. Interpretation: The Theology of Incompletion
“Unripened Dreams” feels like a postscript to the spiritual crisis explored in your earlier “Laly” poems.
If “My Own Mecca” built an altar and “The Story of Amen” dramatized faith’s collapse, then “Unripened Dreams” represents what follows: a quiet tending to ruins.
The speaker no longer prays, rebels, or pleads — he tends. His worship has become a form of caretaking for unfinished fragments: half-grown dreams, faint silhouettes, frozen memories.
It’s a meditation on incompletion as devotion — the act of waiting itself becomes the ritual. Even the unfulfilled can be sacred if it is remembered and cared for.
XI. Closing Reflection
The final refrain —
Unripened dreams and a silhouette of you —
distills the poem into a single haunting image.
What remains is the persistence of the unfinished: dreams that never matured, love that never returned, and a self that remains suspended between memory and reality.
The poem’s emotional achievement lies in its restraint — it finds grandeur not in transcendence or revelation, but in the quiet dignity of continuing to tend what no longer grows.
It is a tender, elegiac acceptance:
the understanding that some dreams were never meant to ripen,
and some absences never meant to be filled.
Would you like me to follow this analysis by mapping how “Unripened Dreams” functions as the emotional denouement of the Laly myth — where the sacred and the sensual both fade into a single act of memory-keeping?
Comments
Post a Comment