NAPOWRIMO – Day 4 [an image from a dream]
a poem
I dream of a poem again - of
words that would drown me
in the world of conscious and
the subconscious
words that would drown me
in the world of conscious and
the subconscious
that poem, which I have lost…
through the layers of yesterday’s
sorrows,
sorrows,
a darkness engulfs me, tortures me,
lashes me, mocks me, and then
it shows me a light
lashes me, mocks me, and then
it shows me a light
I crave for the poem that can
liberate me
liberate me
it always have done; yet now
while I sit to write, the poem denies
its existence…
while I sit to write, the poem denies
its existence…
in my dream the poem takes
shapes
shapes
of clouds and float by
of water and flows away
of dewdrops and silently wait
of tiny flowers, of roads, of days,
of nights, of birds, of fish, of snails…
of water and flows away
of dewdrops and silently wait
of tiny flowers, of roads, of days,
of nights, of birds, of fish, of snails…
and then it becomes me, shackled
in chains of ashes from the bones
of my dear ones
in chains of ashes from the bones
of my dear ones
is death so powerful that it could
kill my voice?
kill my voice?
Anindita Bose
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