Not the sleep I wanted,
Or maybe I did;
But the dream was negative
The shouting was sore
Even behind the window pane
For the observer, it was a bane
The fight was intense
Without any pretence
The faces were red
And when the breath was fed
Came out the words
Could disperse the herds
That anger within
In all its glory
Borderline gory
Far from mumbling
Those hands fumbling
Looking to get a grip
To hold on to it, or flip!
Unlike the girl across the door
That serene smile she bore
Writing away without blinking
So fast as if without thinking
And then she stopped
With a sudden pop
Jumping with anxiety
Narrowing her eyes
She doesn’t like to get stuck
Between the ocean and the skies.
Her lips are moving but there’s no sound
She’s trying hard but not to be found
That rhyming word where she got stuck
Lips moving, still trying but no luck
I wonder what the word is
Which she needs to rhyme
“month” or “orange”
Words worth a crime
I want to read what she’s written
To find her story which would be hidden
Hope she hasn’t drawn out a fence
And free is her poetry in all true sense.
I woke up finally
As the alarm went off timely
Trying to recall
Through the memory, I crawl
There was a man in fight
Strained and stressed, nothing but plight
There was a girl lost in her thought
Struggling with rhyme but smiling a lot
Not the sleep I ever wanted
Or maybe I did
Memories are haunted
Hard to put a lid
Have to embrace these peaceful screams
These artists performing in my theatre of dreams.
3 comments:
Profound , intense and poetic. Loved the ending with these words - Theater of Dreams.
Now that I read it again, it seems more of a verbal duel. As I messaged you earlier, I think this is a very fine piece of work. Also, one of your most dramatic writings -- quite a shift from the brooding pieces we associate you with. I agree with Sahu -- Theatre of Dreams is a very apposite title for it.
Thanks brothers. A shift from brooding pieces, good to know.
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