He saw purple flowers in dream,
Wanting to photograph bunches,
Hanging by a hedge on elevation.
There was a boy who wore a shirt
Of unspecified hue, like shadow.
The ground leading to the hedge
Was craggy and full of red gravel.
Would the old man risk the climb
To photograph bunch of flowers,
If there were no colors in dream?
The boy was a shadow of no color.
He must be dream within dream.
In us is a Kino eye that walks back
From the effects to the beginning.
A weird dream way, we walk back
And between, find bodies tumble
Only to make new stories of plots
With the most implausible climax.
(Kino eye is the cinematic eye technique developed by Dziga Vertov, who made a fine silent movie named Kino Eye using the technique)
It is time for a long dialogue of walk.
A neighbor ‘s tiny moonlight flowers
Have done nightly duty of fragrance.
These are now wilted smiles on road.
The parijata tree had shed its flowers
On earth , their red feet up in the air.
The big black beast is a piece of iron
Rusting through dark seaside nights.
Black like night it had punched hole
In the dark underside of ship’s pride
An honor turned sea water and salty
The false pride of an enemy attacker.
But the victory at sea is mere marble
In a museum of time’s forgetfulness.
After noon ,when there is silence
Baby’s eyes can follow fan blade.
Here there is sea wind at the door
And see, how eyes flutter around
Dreams in them ,moving rapidly.
A stomach feels like milky world.
She can’t look a sea beyond door.
It is too big for a little baby mind.
But she can follow in a rapid eye
A brown fan in white sky above.
The sky everywhere seems same.
Fan in it moves with baby dream.
Milky laughter behind eyelids
Seems to rotate like silky stars
As though her recent new life
Is laughing matter in her belly.
She may not be existentialist,
Crinkling eyes at old sunlight,
Or too much milk in stomach
Or excess moonshine in a sky
As moon plays hide and seek
With cloud in full view of sea.
Baby laughs in milky tummy
Gurgling a laughter’s bubbles.
Her bubbles tickle a midnight
On world floating on its sleep.
I am still continuous there
And I walk, room to room.
I am aging , room to room.
My place continues to age.
My air is musty , sea- worn
And the place is still aging.
I am at ninety ,she tells me ,
Your mom had aged early.
She had aged till a seventy
And six and stopped aging.
Her place was decade ago.
Her time is aging in space.