Friday, July 1, 2022

The eyes in my dream – Gouri C.V, Kerala

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I dreamt of two eyes,
which were deep and dark
with a red spot near the ball
like a forbidden rose.

In the paradise of dream,
they wandered across time.
And in those mysterious wheels
I saw the height of mounts,
depth of seas,
and length of rivers.

They were weak and tired
all along the dream
carrying the burden of memories
that nested in the heart
before birth,beyond death.

In the dream they taught me
the language of life
the science of snowfall
the magic of a wind
and the joy of a wound.

Then they asked me
to decode my dreams,
the rapid dreams
that ran along my way,

It was not my choice
nor my faith
but an unexpected guest
from previous life
with bonds that never unwind.

In my dream,
never did those eyes
give me a glance,
they were busy
searching new mounts
and streams.
But I was trapped
by the typhoon in the ball.
And I had no way
but to spiral round
the peaceful centre
of life and death,
without touching it
nor losing it.

In the nudity of peace
the ball sailed
in the sea of tears
without tides or waves
calm with contentment.

Once ,only once,
by the lovely pull of moon
the tides rose high,
a petrified blast,
Oh! a pity cry.

The moon left its rope
but an ebb was impossible.
Destiny pulled it down
back to the calm ocean
waiting another full moon day.

When the tides were over
I felt my cheeks wet.
With a deep exhale
I realized,
the ocean was in those wandering eyes
but the tide was in mine.
Moon failed to pull them
but won me
because for me,
all days have full moon.

The dream was about to end
and I could hear the warning bell.
No doubt,
the eyes will be closed soon
without leaving a glance around me
and I was prepared.

With the satisfaction of a magician
who successfully deceived all the viewers,
the eyes gazed at me
rewinding the mounts and streams,
they asked
“what else?”
I could say nothing,just repeated
the eight grand letters
and witnessed silently,
the landfall of a typhoon.

The final bell rang
the dream was over.
I sat on my bed
without regret.

I thought of plucking the forbidden rose
near the ball,but was helpless,
the rose has not bloomed yet
without rubbing my wet cheeks,
I stood.

There, on the wall,
opposite to my bed
I saw the two eyes
the two weak eyes.
They are staring at me
a scrutinizing stranger,
I looked back too,
with all pleasure and delight.

Yes, ‘twas a spider,
a black widow spider
with eggs in the bag,
sitting motionless
like a saint.

The eyes that wandered in dreams
stood still in reality,
I could not help asking
“what else?”.
With sharpened ears ,I heard
the eight letters repeated
by the black widow spider.

IR
IR
Editorial Team of Indian Ruminations.

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