Perhaps The dream Would Come Again?

Around a roaring log fire we sat
While all around us a seamless
Undulating vista of forests of Pine sloughed.
The innocent breeze
With not a trace of artifice
On my cheek planted a cheeky kiss
With no bias or prejudice
Filling me with absolute bliss.
The moon looked down at me with a lofty toleration
Sneering arrogantly at my jubilation.
I surreptitiously filched it of a few moonbeams.
It was unaware it seems
Of this daredevilry rare
And continued beaming with a condescending air .

On the Boulevard near the Dal Lake
As we walked
We were again stalked
By the boisterous breeze
Which followed us to our shikara as it cruised along
While the boatman hummed a joyous song.
I quickly robbed a few notes of his song.
Unaware of this theft, the boatman sailed along
Singing that happy song.
Suddenly some feisty raindrops
Across me slanted
And planted
Themselves in my hair.
The moon continued beaming with a condescending air.

Near the banks of the Lidder ,
I threw back my head and laughed
My heart blithe
As the wavelets played with my feet.
My face radiantly glowed
And the river vibrantly flowed
Chuckling at my artless laughter
Probably wondering what I was after.
Brazenly, it flaunted its evanescent dimples
So, I robbed it of a few vain ripples.
Was that rude?
But , I was in a revengeful mood.
Maybe this theft would make it a little mellow?
But, it was the moon which became more yellow.
Entranced, I watched the yellow fellow.
“Hello”,
Said a tiny pheran clad figure.
Ah, he was an admixture of the sun and the moon.
The river now had a change of heart and sung a melodious tune
As I hugged him to my chest
Ignoring the river’s gabfest.

The tiny bird perched on the edge of its nest
Sang a happy song.
But was something wrong ?
The song hoisted me out of my dream.
From the window a tiny moonbeam
Entered my room.
Ah, it was time to sleep
I hugged the ripples and the roar
And the petrichor
Of my homeland
And slept.
The secret of my theft close to my heart I kept
And slept.
To wake up in my dream
To the sounds and smells of my homeland grand.
Perhaps , the dream would come again?

5 thoughts on “Perhaps The dream Would Come Again?

  1. Surinder

    Another brilliant piece on the nostalgia that our homeland memories always bring up. Terrible that we can only feel that land, that air, those flavours only in our dreams. May the dreams keep coming and may they become a reality in near future.

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  2. Pete Mullen

    A love for nature is part of a love for humanity, two sides of the same coin. Perhaps we have Santosh’s mother and father to thank for this work, (but they do say that in order to bring up a child properly, one needs to start planning a 100 years in advance)? Wherever, however Santosh’s gift came from/ about, I am lucky enough to be able to thank only Santosh personally very much for it. (But just remember like I do, her ancestors’ do have a part to play in it).

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