Destinations
If the dreams I’m having
are not mine,
who is dreaming mine?
If I miss the train tomorrow
will someone else arrive
at the destination in my stead?
Only delinquent memory
confuses and conflates
names of writers and of their
times and cities;
Was there ever a Buenos Aires,
a Lisbon,
a Bologna,
without a Borges,
a Pessoa,
an Eco?
If there were any such cities
perhaps the writers too
were never there;
perhaps they dreamt their dreams
in other locales
under pseudonyms
to disguise the fact that
others had dreamt their dreams
for them,
adopted their names
their appearance and mannerisms;
Trains are always like this,
full of such people arriving
at destinations that
had waited in vain,
for me.
A fine poem, profound, layered and thought-provoking.
A surreal expatiation on the relativity of reality .
An excellent,allusive,evocative ‘travel’ in hyperreality.
While personal destinations are missed out at times destinations remain static welcoming all and sundry and therein lies the complexity of life and its journey. The poem crisply states this enigmatic truth.