Dreams, these days, are of the moon and moon-manufacturer!
The gripe translucent skies in the night
the mood swings of solitude, the cognizance of the air, purer,
the memories of missing moon motif, a vanished delight.
Dreams, these days, are of the sea and the seafarer.
The uncluttered, sweeping ocean epitomizes much more
than an unbiassed body of water; it embodies a malicious elegance
that never hesitates to induce the narrator.
Dreams, these days, are of some make-believe love and some eternal lover.
Ahh! Genuine love is measured by how deep you tumble
and adjudicated; mediated by how trivial you are,how willing to scuttle
just to save it and make it linger.
Dreams, these days, are of a comrade and about some paramour.
It is resolute by how keen you are to unclutter.
Offer your conviction. It is generous, incredible
and apparently very kind. It is, of course, often biased, it is colour blind.
Dreams, these days, are of travel and the traveler.
The wanderer and the wanderlust, the reminiscence and rumination.
Do not foldaway lost travel stories to the hermit’s harbor
there is a great lot you aught to see post contagion.
Dreams, these days are of many lands, many homes and the homemaker.
There is boundless share your passion daily does sought to travel.
You needn’t unpack right away, keep your luggage at bay.
You are not parting, your authority shall you take back, oh seafarer!
Dreams these days are of a long life– glorious, happier, healthier, better.
Still, if you succumb, the show goes on even minus you, so don’t despair.
Dream anyway, love anyway; you shall soon find your ‘home’ awfully closer!
The marvels of the mourned sound colossal; they may, as well, entice and lure.
Death stands at a distance
all day all night, smiling, unblinking,
like that picture under the staircase.
Are you waiting for the last bus?
Do you know, the sands are slowly
rolling through the gaps of your fingers?
Tighten your fist. You are enlightened to
pick one – the coffin or a life of action.
From one birth to another, augment the civilization.
Does your laugh tear your shrunken lips?
Open your wardrobe, cover the breast of the poor,
apply on your lips the balm of a millennium’s rebellion.
Who says death is the only truth?
See, your body of fog is still seated on the throne.
You still shine in the firmament of stars.
Prof.Nandini Sahu, Professor of English and Director, School of Foreign Languages, IGNOU, New Delhi, India, is an established Indian English poet,creative writer,theorist and folklorist. She is the author/editor of fourteen books; has been widely published in India and outside. Prof. Sahu is a triple gold medalist in English Studies. Her areas of research interest cover New Literatures, Critical Theory, Folklore and Culture Studies, Children’s Literature and American Literature.
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