I’m not a poet, nor will I ever be one, but I can still “Imagine”.


I’m not a poet, nor will I ever be one,

but I can still imagine. . .

Imagine you’re someone like Warren Buffet.

For the past six months you have been sitting

on a hundred and twenty billion dollars,

waiting and waiting. . . What shall I do?

When is the right moment?

What a terrible dilemma.

Should I buy Shell Oil shares or wait?

Are prices low enough?

Now may be the moment. . .

But wait. . . imagine I could just buy a factory

and start producing medical gloves and masks

by the millions.
And imagine I’d buy another one

and produce protective gear for the doctors

and nurses saving our lives.

Or maybe a factory producing ventilators?

I mean imagine, what’s a few hundred million dollars

here or there? I’m so rich it’s like having

an expensive meal somewhere.

You may ask the waiter if that is the bill

or the estimate to redecorate the dining room

but the next day you’ve already forgotten all about it,

it’s a drop in the ocean.

Ah but then again, darn, you’re not Warren

or even my friend Richard Branson,

you’re sequestrated in a house

or an apartment in quarantine.

Maybe you should raise the yellow flag

like they do on ships?

Imagine you’re in Naples,

sitting in a cramped apartment on the seventh floor

with your wife or husband, your mother in law

and three wining children with nowhere to go.

Imagine you’re a Spanish nurse

with gloves you’ve now used for the past ten days

and a bin bag for protection because

an arrogant government had no imagination.

Imagine you’re next and you may not make it,

there’s no starting over.

The light is already shining brighter

over the threshold of the beyond.

You’ve crossed the Mason Dixon Line

of your imagination; you can’t worry

about what’s been left behind –

that world no longer exists,

no use having regrets or remorse.

All that’s left now is imagining

where you could have been,

but aren’t.

I imagine the ski slopes in the Alps together

with my wife and daughter,

challenging each other

to make the best carves in the glistering snow

while we soak up the beauty

of the world surrounding us.

I look out of my window at the Ocean

imagining what’s beyond the distant horizon.

They took my freedom but they don’t know

that I’m already gone

on a forty-seven foot sailing yacht

on my way to a faraway island in the sun

where the palm trees lazily hang

over the white sandy beaches

and the turquoise water laps at my feet.

Just Imagine.

James Delahaye.