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.
Copyright © Ibohal Kshetrimayum | Year Posted 2019
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