Dreams by Ananya Guha
I have many ways to pound at truths
such as questioning the rain
or putting a gloss of the sun on my
head, only when weird calls at night
disturb dreams do I begin incantations
of regret, hurling abuses at the world;
when I wake moments loosen into
incognito of being, remembrances are
glassy, rooftops seem to rattle bones
I become a skeleton, viper of helplessness
theories fall out of place and summers disturb.
It is only winters that start telling tales
of old mangy dogs.
And, believe me, the dreams surface.
But dreams become wild as waterfalls
and hills intercede in momentary mists
I dream of faraway tales and the niggling
doubts of life step in. I step aside.
I am me. The others are raiment in the dark.
Ananya Guha lives in Shillong in Northeast India. He has retired from service as an academic. He has eight collections of poetry and his poems have been published worldwide, as well as in several anthologies. He holds a doctoral degree on the novels of William Golding.