Borderless Fugitive

In a dream I slept. And I had another dream. In that dream I saw - A madman looking at a wild orchid Falling from a tree Rooted firmly on a hill, brown and old. The crazy man spoke to the flower - Why do you fall so young? You are yet to be pinned On a maiden's hair. I do not fall willingly, But for the wind - Replied the fallen bloom. No! I didn't lay a finger on it. I was gently breezing, Whispering to the buds - Wind defended itself. A stag came along, Looked at the bewildered lunatic, Wisely shook its antlers and said - It cannot wither on the bough. It ought to remain graceful for the earth With whom it will be wedded, When the rains arrive. Dry grass, twigs and thorns, On which the golden floret lay defenselessly, Revolted - We don't want rain. We don't welcome the black clouds either. We are celebrating festival of colors: Red, purple and others, no greens please. And I saw - Men in orange hoods drumming, and Women shrouded with white veils dancing, In a temple of a blue god. A woman in birth pangs was laboring on the floor, Her cries lost Amidst Pounding pains, Ambiguous hymns, And ecstatic murmurings of blind disciples. A yolk-less egg rolled out and Broke between her legs. A monstrous beast was born, and It roared, Like shots fired from a rifle. I felt a razor's sharp edge sliding along my throat. I then saw a barber barbarously smiling down at me. He scrubbed my face with a wet salty stone, And smiled again while dismissing me with eerie politeness. I left hurriedly and walked out of a dark alley Of my old town, All the while my fingers rubbing On my Adam's apple. I couldn't find the river Which used to flow in front of our home. And I woke up homeless on a strange map.