The Dream House

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The Dream House

It's a story, not of donkey's years ago
I saw it through the glass of the window
On a cool August morning, aboard my train
Before it ran away from me, behind and behind:

Behind the big billboard, Sony-make dot believe
Atop a culvert beside the track booming
Somewhere near Bengaluru, the city of gardens
Beside the ballast and the iron elongated
Lay a dream house, his dear little dream house:

Swathed in Polythene supposed to be weather-proof
Weather-beaten, nevertheless, with a coat of smog
A humble hole, opening for the mouse of a man
Good enough a gap to slither into and snooze
 The dream house, his warm little dream house.

Welcome, a sweet evening is here to enthrall-
A dream, just culled from the posters on the wall
The celluloid icons, a lovely lump of dream-matter
Nubile, naughty for sure, a flowerlike damsel
Not just a mannequin, the plastic mademoiselle.

Aha! She's so submissive and so very demure
She has no hatred for the worms of the gutter
Generous, smiling, gorgeous and bodily sensuous
Smelling jasmine everywhere she sauntered
A marble-skinned icon, just made for the poor.

Here is a hungry night with a lot of ache
The flesh tickling and hardening the resolve
It's time to finish the bad act before bed
In the aloneness of the world, in the crisp darkness
Among the crowd of cupids, daring to act.

And finally the heat dissipates and it's time to snore
The sensuous something has slipped for now
She would come back, for she has gone to return
There's so much that she likes about that room
The dream house, his warm little dream house!

Coimbatore

29-08-2012

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By

A. N. Nanda

Coimbatore

29-08-2012

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