The sun is out and the dream will melt
Like a sand castle succumbing to raindrops
Like a tiny fluff of cotton getting blown
An ice-cream dripping to finish before one’s
A cotton candy shrivelling out of shape
The sun is out and the dream will melt….
Is it possible to finish everything
Oh yes, the task one leaves in the midst dream?
The dream: that’s my dream that ended just
With a scream ecstatic welcoming the joy
Within my reach and so very tickling.
A feel of warmth still running down my
Look, still rigid are the goose bumps, all
over my skin
And refusing to fade they are, never ever
for a minute.
Is it, then, possible to finish the
Now that I’m out of the wonderland
Bright is the sky and crumpled is the sheet
With no dream advantage worth the name
Sans weapon and empty-handed?
Well, the answer could be ambivalent
Perhaps ‘nope’ and perhaps ‘yes’.
Perhaps sometimes, one cannot say.
Perhaps…it depends...but then and how come?
If ‘yes’, then how to restart?
And if ‘nope’, then how not to?
Here’s the ghost I’d killed while sleeping
Bodily present before me and taunting
And tormenting me a lot just for nothing
I’d have to chart it afresh,
The tortuous course of agony, the labyrinthine
And he is happy and alive, howling and dancing.
Just a minute ago in my dream
He’s so meek, you can’t believe
Aha! His nose touching my feet, so submissive
Loved to die for a change to dole me a
Only a drama then it was, his begging for his
To make me enjoy the kick of killing!
Gave him I the choice, his due, a dying
AC or DC, the current of his choice
To die awake or asleep, depending on his wish
To lacerate to death or gasp his way out
To drink hemlock, if I could arrange a
Nevertheless he went dead before me, and I’m
The ghost deserved to die so very cruelly
After all, what hadn’t he done all his life?
With no compunction how he stole everything
Wresting my life’s possession from my grip
How could I stand the scene
Enjoying he with vengeance everything of
True, he had the power to choose when to
But who on earth did dare him for once?
Merrily ceding him what they possessed
Lived they by choice, on borrowed time
Everything needed his permission
To love and to breathe and to call a spade
But none did care about raising his voice.
A pact with the devil?
Was there no way other than this?
For honour’s sake, he deserved to die
Did anybody think it even for a moment?
But dared I, I dared him in my dream
He had no go but to choose his nemesis
That was his end, and I can vouch for it
Just a minute ago, when silence had seized.
If not left to be finished some other time
Jobs are easy always in dream
Like stealing a glance or smelling a
But easy jobs rarely appear in my dream.
My dreams are only for killing
But they’re always half-finished.
A N Nanda