Slavery...

My wings of feathery dream sprouted in the month of November. Inch by inch the icy cubes of a frozen brook broke out from its shell. There was I and you. Among all the blues, I sowed this seed of love without any prejudice, for I knew the fuel of life – in pain or so deep. I have a hitch. It’s not you or your history. It’s not me or my sense of self. But it’s the dark wall that I have painted in maroon smear. Once when the lane that emerged out of my dream, I held myself on to the victims of calamity. They had no one in this dark globe...

Sweet dreams are often made in deep sleep. And the moment you are awake, the sleep carries away the dream that you wished to acquire. Life is in the run of desire, at the grand highway, to the rough patches of creepy sewer. Every time when the door bell used to chime, I stood straight to stare through the dark pane beside the huge print hung from the roof to bottom. Because I knew the lonesome visitors never asked for me or my whereabouts. They wanted to quench their thirst. And set their voyage to an unknown terra firma…

Now, I have a hitch. But I got nowhere to sketch it. When the rain falls softly on my dry land, I step out, get drenched and walk away to the glitters of glory glided by the street lamps that stood lean and sturdy. The dry hiss of the breeze shook my past away. Everything and everyone in the street are so strange. I and you… The mirage that I see on this stream… We meet every day… And I know the fact that, each day is a drive to the next dawn… And my wings of feathery dream sprouted from here… Among all the blues, I sowed this seed of love without any prejudice… without any pain… any name…