Dream boats -Meenakshi Jauhari Chawla

I close my eyes, again,

and try to gather up

the edges of my dream

before it seeps away in the

sounds of the waking day.

A lot of dreams I’ve tried to save

this way – special dreams.

They rise from a place I don’t know

and slip in unseen beside me

as I turn inwards from drowsy borderlands.

Then they hoist their wide Fauve sails,

carry me aloft in their newly-minted arms,

and we set sail to shores

that scintillate behind bright-eyed stars,

or ancient ports behind gauzy breezes…

and just when earth stalls in its pirouette,

just when sun chokes on a cumulus,

when new reality becomes me,

and I am the moment,

and the moment is eternity…

… just then a well-worn decibel cracks

open a skull and my dream dies with slow

labored breaths – first its warmth,

then its fragrance,

and in the end,

the colors drip painfully off the edge,

and reality monochrome is all

I’m left with.

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