When I look out at sea
I dream of you
Of another life we could lead
I dream of you
Like a moonbeam In the rain
Like a fantasy, like a pain
I dream of you
It's an easy careful dream
And if dreams were true
I hope,
You'll Dream of me too
I lie still…
game breeze
combs my hair
I’m a poor host–
some of my books
can’t stand up straight
Rain…?
Or just wind
clacking the leaves?
Slow July…
water pauses
in the sink
Downtown Jesus…
spiderweb,
cheek to shoulder
Lying flat…
some nights i dream of open mouths
with yellow, decaying teeth
and gum sores all along the sides
andwetblistersontheirtonguestheirbreathishotandmustydominatingmysensesasthemouthssteadilyget
closer
and
closer
i always wake up just before they reach me
those rolling tongues
and hot breaths
but i can still feel them crawlingallovermyskin
sunlight pours through the window and its bent blinds,
stabbing at my eyes until they're filled with swirls of red and orange.
the birds try their best to make blood pool from my ears.
No, I don't want to leave!
Please don't wake me up.
the world i've created, painstakingly crafted, dulls.
their voices are muddled as reality punches me in the gut.
What did they look like again?
a kaleidoscope dances behind my eyelids and
i pull the covers over my head.
We were at the beach. No, the park. And they were saying...
but then the dream disintegrates
and floats away in the wind.
it's all lost.
there's barely a footprint left to haunt my every memory.
"I had this dream earlier."
My mind speaks for freedom
My body forgets where I'm from
I just keep on dreaming
& Always,
Sometimes,
Singing.
A flutter of my eyes
As I lay down my head
Off goes the light
And I'm lying in bed
To sleep, to sleep
I must go at last
The time to wake
Has long since been passed
Yet I do not go
My mind's in a race
My body's on earth,
My thoughts are in space
Wond'ring my purpose
And who I'll be
A dream, a dream
Is all I see
Looking for the woman
from my dream last night.
Her eyes were the Cuyahoga River,
and her touch was
the first drop of unfrozen rain to fall on your shoulder
in the beginning of Spring.
In the dream
I had reached the railway station.
Now I run through the hallway
Dodging people and baggage
Beggars sprawled on the floor
Asleep.
Slipping, cutting across long queues where
Travelers stood patiently
Tired, shoulders sloping, eyes vacant
Unmindful of the dust, sweat and the sullen children.
Past the metal detector and the indifferent policemen,
Frantic, I look up and down the platform and then
Speed to the stairway over the rails, to the next platform.
Now I pant, I feel pain in my chest, I gasp.
Down the steps, past the vendors of tea, water and snacks
Past the trolleys with sacks of mail.
There is a twilight
Where dreams end
And realities begin.
To some, it is dawn,
Wake-up time;
Dusk it is, to others.
To those who slept through
Dawn,
Dusk
Is the time
To light candles
In Wake.
Like being hit by a speeding truck
And then, like a lover’s gentle caress
The winds of Nagercoil blow
From the east, the west and all around.
Among the grass, the dragonflies veer-
Swing up and away and then twist
To drop: pummelled by the winds, they
Grapple with the twigs as if on a joyride.
The ponds ripple; little waves rise
Like young girls shivering at their lovers’ kiss.
The crows and doves like drunkards
Stagger in the air; the tall palms sway
Their leaves chatter, huddled close like kids
The green paddy, as far as the eye can see-
Undulating waves of a vast sea.
Then – the winds would drop
There is a method to starting a bike.
A deliberateness, a pause, before every step.
Keenly detecting flecks of dust, dried droppings
Of crows, of oil leaked and sticking like paste
Mixed, with the finest of grains
Wiping it all clean.
Flipping back the stand, inserting the key
And turning it right, assured of the green light,
You depress the lever; throttle closed,
Carefully pressing your foot down on the kicker
You pause – again, before bringing it down again
Gently, but firmly and swiftly,
Listening to the plug catching a spark.
As the engine sputters to life, you listen to the thuds, even.
With such intimacy, with almost love, you listen
To the throb; your bike is alive.
I stand before the mirror,
Barely able to see my face,
My whole life in front of me,
Hopes and dreams to embrace,
I stand before the mirror,
Not liking what I see,
Small for my age,
Changes occurring constantly,
I stand before the mirror,
Excited about my future,
Lofty goals still I hold,
Naively full of optimism,
I stand before the mirror,
Uncertain of what’s to come,
Full of dedication and determination,
As I’m still young,