As I lay my head on the pillow,
And drifted into the early beckoning of sleep,
I found myself in the midst of,
A deep, dark, Dostoevsky dream,
I was in a small, decrepit room,
No bigger than a long, forgotten closet,
And perhaps less maintained,
With old wooden chairs and a dresser the only objects,
A wooden cross hung above the dresser,
And many an icon below,
And an empty paper and quill the only indicator,
That this room, humans had known,
Suddenly entered a man,
Whom I couldn’t believe my eyes,
It was Ivan Fyodorovich Karamazov,
And in his deliriums he had brought the Devil besides!
The Demon perched on his shoulder, specifically the left side,
And a twisted smile played on Ivan's lips,
With a maliciousness he couldn’t hide,
"Why exist?" he fervently declared, "In a world of pain and suffering?"
In my dream I couldn’t reply,
In my stupor I began to cry,
But suddenly floated in a soft, angelic voice,
One I had never heard, but instantly knew who in my mind,
"For God," the voice said, "and the salvation of all mankind!"
A young man in frock coat and robes entered,
And the Devil disappeared with spite,
For of Holy Fools like Alyosha, it couldn't stand the sight!
Ivan's seminarian brother put my heart at ease,
As if in the sweltering heat, in floated a gentle, cool breeze,
As I watched the brothers embrace and converse,
Light footsteps suddenly emerged,
Out came a man, of most decrepit derelictions,
With sunken eyes and cold stare,
And long black dishevelled hair,
Lo and behold, Raskolnikov himself appeared!
He immediately gravitated towards Ivan,
Like two kindred souls they stood near,
"It's always interesting to talk with an intelligent man," he remarks,
As Ivan's eyes widen with familiarity and fear,
Soon after Prince Myshkin stormed in,
With a warm smile and kind eyes,
And in Alyosha he found,
A friend to stand beside,
Now the room was getting quite cramped,
And a tension seemed to persist in the air,
Who would walk in next I wondered?
Perhaps Dostoevsky himself would come here?
But just as a man was about to enter,
I found my dream waning and dying,
Oh if only I could hold onto it a little longer,
Not for my lack of trying!
To be surrounded by the most riveting characters,
Whom had occupied my mind so!
Only in my dreams do they visit me thereafter,
Only when I have my eyes closed,
As this Dostoevsky dream comes to an end,
And I lay awake in my bed,
I envision the writer himself and his momentous insight,
To create characters that live rent-free in my mind!
~ L.S. Thomas
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