I leapt through the Orphic glass

One.

The silly promise of the mornings are 
upheld in the night. I lie awake.

I am gazing at the misty windows now and 
wherever the rain seeps in I make a point to adorn 
them with the warm clothes of my heart. 


The morning shall descend in a while and 
beyond the Bay of Bengal, a storm cloud
shall invite itself over  the little Parthenium
forests in the city of joy. 
Sometimes, I am aware of the 
blue thunder it brings. 
It's deafening and I am aware of her, 
she wants us to wake up from 
this torpor-
Ma says, its the rice country 
torpor that makes men dream more and 
more. I am her skeptical child.  

I keep on dreaming. 




Two.

The morning breaks in the scaffolds of disaster 
and there are boats filled with fishes that could 
be found on tree tops. In times of sadness why 
do they hush us to obey the rules of
happiness?  

There are pin pricks that bruises our heart and 
it often transcends into a silent melancholy. 
Like everything else it is perhaps waiting for art
to sprout 
out.   

Why tomorrow, when I love you 
today?she asks.  

With all your talent you should hang on,
you must wait for the chalk lines of time
to scribble and rearrange the hollows of
your heart, you should face the test of
envious comrades who belittle you, you must, 
you shouldn't give up now- 
for life is one and only, 
and dreams are sad and 
lonely. 

In the end of all this abeyance you will 
find words that are like aberration or 
truth, and I will tell you what, 
her words were the 
truest-
dream when you are 
wide awake and there are stars
for company.




Three.

I am living your dream now,

in this waking 
life.