A breeze flies to me, luscious yet unkind,
tosses around my well-laid life
and melts across the horizons.
My poems remain; their manuscripts float
disheveled in forgotten spaces behind.
Perhaps an unblemished moon in my skies.
With immaculate strokes of pen I draw
a nose and a handful of wrinkles on her face.
And all the stars of all new-moon nights
twinkle with delight in their impish sighs.
Certain dreams I so carefully build,
fall apart in a disturbing clamour.
In multitudes of dazzling colours,
in a sheath of rainbow hues
stays hidden my desired image.
A different dream I dream now.
A different picture I paint.
Like the different creaks of a creaking wheel
the difference sounds so quaint.
As time goes by and times come back,
spiteful, the sounds return as well.
I sit, pen down the forever new
as the past of forgotten spaces swell.
© 2007 Ritwik Banerjee
Floating Dreams by
Ritwik Banerjee is licensed under a
Creative Commons Attribution-Noncommercial-No Derivative Works 3.0 License.