Tell Me No More of Enchanted Days

  ( Fall of Icarus, Saraceni Carlos) I dreamt you fell, From a great height. You tumbled and crashed. And there was nothing I could do, But watch in horror. My silent screams couldn't reach you. You lay in a pool of blood, Limp and gone, incapable  Of being revived, rescued or saved. I woke up wanting to cry, Because there's nothing worse Than watching someone die Before your eyes. I dreamt you fell. Or maybe it really happened I don't know anymore, What do I believe? A dream that feels solid Or reality that seems cloud like. In any case, I prayed. Because that's all I can do these days. Apparently it helps, Even if you are a sceptic, And know very well God is too busy To pay heed to foreboding dreams. Still I prayed.

  If you follow your eyes, The signs are every where. You don't need words or approval, Not even a shred of factual evidence. Not a look, not a gesture, not a letter. Not a board that tells you where to go. Not a deed that talks of give and take. Not a book that tells you how to behave. Just know that I love you. Just know that I get you. If you fall, I might even catch you. You can't see me looking at you. But know that I am. When you close your eyes, When you see the light, Even when you choose not to see Me at all.

Come, let's forget my needs, And you can pretend it's alright. I would love to sing you a song, Even if it's a sad one. Who cares if my sky's blue, And yours a pale grey? We all live underneath the same love. We all want to go on some way. I'm always the night and you're Always the day. I wait till midnight For the stars to shine. And you always wait for the sun to rise. I'm always alone while you sleep. And you dream of the the time I'm awake. And we never meet. And we never find our reasons to blame.

( Picture courtesy: Mask of day by day by Paulo Zerbato)  "Welcome to my home," he said. "Where's your wife?", she said. " She's gone for a shoot, to Pondicherry." She looked around. The house was just as she expected. Aesthetically done. Posters and paintings, old wooden furniture, Ikat throws, Crepe curtains, some silver ware. "Do you want to remove your jacket?" She nodded, knowing why he was asking that. He timidly touched her neck while he removed it. "I love your shoulders." She was wearing a tank top underneath, with trousers and boots. "So Pranoy, does your wife know I'm coming over?" "No, but she wouldn't mind. I told you, we have an open marriage." "Didn't seem that way when she chatted with me pretending to be you and swore at me for stealing her husband." "That's all in the past now. Sakshi and I have done this before. She considers you a threat maybe because it'

 

( Picture courtesy: Woman looking in the mirror, Frederic Belaubre)  I've stopped looking for you, Shattered past, devil's stone Of quivering lips and cold hands, A smile so sweet and eyes so bold. Let's pack you up, the stories untold. Let's put fear and cowardice back  Where they belong. You don't trust me, I know. Nothing comes from nothing. So let's pull down the blinds on that show. I've stopped looking for you, Frigid present,  saintly throne Of choking words and abandoned poems, Days so dull, choices unknown. From black to blue to green. You change colours mirroring my moods, But never say why you are always alone. So let's just admit we are all bitter. Let's just admit we are bound by cords, Pulling our insides together to keep us alive. I've stopped looking for you, Shiny future, light in white fog Of water colours and dainty china, Picket fences, I don't want them any more. I used to dream of yellow flowers and Green meadows, ocean

 Isn't it strange, When you are not  Who you thought you were, Or not who you are supposed to be? What if you are always wrong, Always too disconnected, Always too predictable Always too clear? None of the things  You really want to be. What if you always know, How it begins and how it ends? You, the writer who unwittingly Spins realities out of words. You, the dreamer who manufactures Visions that foretell death and doom. The architect who, on purpose Leaves the hole in the wall, Knowing very well  The facade will collapse. Who, then do you blame? And who do you pursue? When nothing can match  Your imagination,  And no one can be the anchor To your ship, that refuses  To stop circling stormy seas, Just because if it all goes wrong, The downfall is yours alone. Who will rein in the river, When all it knows is to flow, Without stopping to meet the shore?