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.

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