A Mid-Day Summer Dream|the Sun melts me…

the leaves, brittle by the hands of the sun

sway like a thirsty bird in the afternoon loo,

the streets empty of travelers, a distant voice

of screeching tires, on the melting coal tar

and the gurgling of coolers exhaling a breath

that sustains life, as June heightens into

a derogatory mark for the residents of city,


I let a beam of the celestial torch to hit me

and burn that spot where my fears hide

so that they dissolve, dissipate, rather

finding their place in some others’ abode

(I engulf selfishness, as the entire world)


– soon I retreat back to the insides as sweat

slithers along our fates, down my brow,

there is a news, I have received a provisionary

admission letter from a college managed by

a council under ministry of tourism,

the heat flushes my cheeks, I’m deranged

while making a decision of such propensity,

there is a solemn expression I see in me

twinkling in my eyes, for in order to

catch a dream, I have to shatter all others

and leave them combusted into fires of sun,


a day would come (if it would, my mortality

glares at me, while the living alludes me)

when to look back, I wonder what I’d find:

the dead remains of those dreams I left out

or a face that is of me, beaming and mocking,

as the sun sets down nowhere when I’m asleep


Image source

A Decision Made

subjected to the sentries, of her morality,

she abstained, discarding off her wings of survival,

to adapt to the fate, her faith would provide,

resting into the fists, of her own mind,


driven by folly for her freedom rites,

she hunkered down, into submissiveness ,

exorcising out, the last light of hope,

she was resolutely inclined, to collapse within,


it was an arduous picking, but a decision made,

to conclude, what was never meant to be,

she stroked her flesh, left lifeless,

and wearing the loop of truth, she saw


herself, acknowledging what all was hers,

a body of lies, a soul mottled by sins of

rebellion, by her own renouncing self,

the scars of the battles she fought and lost,


against the enemy- invisible, and absent-

but which proliferated, into her own eyes,

in the end, it was just a tear that trickled down, when

she gave up one last time, with a knowing smile


Okay, I am really sleepy. Therefore, I am posting it in a sort of daze. This is tagged as the poem for 4 November for NaBloPoMo.

Image source