Lucid Dreams

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Stop for a while and take in these spectres a bit more,

Close your eyes and watch them flying inside,

Wake up savouring the whiff of warmness, masked by the dead, frozen layers,

Croon along with the serenading gale, humming a haunted, plaintive tune,

Waltz across with the dreamy shadows as the light sleeps still,

Drink in the frosty moonlight that drips into the inky night.

 

Wipe off the dust and ashes from the distant mirror,

Sprinkle the dazzling stardust on the flawless surface, 

just to gaze into the other self that lives inside.

 

Are they lucid dreams, webbing the strains of the mind,

blurring the mirage betwixt fact and fancy?

Or enmeshed memories clinging to a cloistered soul?

 

Some untouched, some crumbled, some flying, some shackled,

Some as light as the milkweed seeds, drifting like wishes unfulfilled,

Some saddling like the rain-bearing clouds about to erupt in fits of flurry,

Some as white as a downy dove cooing in a mellow tone,

Some as sanguine as a rainbow that chases us,

Some like a black hole that sucks in the rhapsodies around,

 

Some as raw as the dewy-eyed four o’ clock flower,

the fragrance of which embosoms the night in a marvellous embrace,

only to slither away to oblivion in the lambent morning light.

Some as touchy as the touch-me-not that feigns sleep, while wide awake,

and nestling up among the sturdy ones, intractable and hard to root out.

 

Some languishing in the mildewy dungeons,

oblivious to an extant, caressing, refreshing zephyr.

Some inhumed in the graveyard of time,

with a stygian heart still beating to the music of madness.

 

I wish I could bridle the pace of the galloping time,

traversing the realms, naive and leery, placid and murky,

halting the eternal flow into the inscrutable destiny.

 

I wish I could grasp those lucid dreams raging in a fiery blaze,

and meld together the splinters of fragmented memories,

moulding the prismatic glass shards into the iridescent mirror of life.

I wish I could unshackle the chained memories echoing in the stilly dank labyrinths,

baring their plangent melody to the hellish outsideness.

 

I flow and meander and cascade  in the boundless space,

unbroken, unceasing as a rivery wave,

the only travelling companion, the time that trudges along,

where no two moments ever happen to be the same

until draining into the ultimate infinity.

 

I wish I could glimpse those lucid dreams in there,

nothing but the unshackled memories breathing free,

the euphony of the soul song girding the flow the life,

the effulgent light plucked away from the gyrating shadows,

the vivid colours reaped from the blaring field of light,

drops of moonlight gleaned from the defiant night,

wisps of feathery reflections that soar higher and higher into the clear ether.

 

I wish I could reach for the horizon,

when the trancey realities tryst with fervid reveries,

where the scarlet faith fire rises time and again, promises flicker in the gloaming,

even as the darkling mystery blindfolds the heaven-born starshine.

 

I wish I could discern the shape of the dreams from the shades of memories,

blending with each other and masquerading as one another,

like the murmuring waves lapping the solitary shore,

whispering mystical hymns to the songless birds,

winged dreams imprinting those little secrets

as memories on the sands of time.

                                                                       Copyright © deepanairrp

 

The Blue Whisperers

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(Photo by Joel Filipe on Unsplash)

They never dissipate in the silvery melody, nor drown out in cacophonous dissonance.

Never do they thaw away in the aureate sunbeam, nor fade into the crepuscular gloom.

 

Searing Inferno with the galloping flames graze them not, undefiled they remain in the hellish ferocity.

       

Raining fire dare not shower its wrath, nor do the icy embrace freeze them numb.

Hovering like a nebulous pall, not too near, yet not as far, they are the guises of invisibly visible blues.

             

Amorphous and nebulous, weightless they feel, yet burdened by the splendor of solitude.

Like a cobweb spun from crispy yarn, dyed in the bluish twilight, crisscrossing the wavy, shimmering incantations,

the glassy teardrops trapped inside bring a salty tang of the warm sea breeze.

 

Unbounded, hazy, they seem to the bare inner eye as subtle blends of blues and purples, their rapturous ecstasy heard as muffled whispers, 

sudden epiphanies to a half-empty soul, draining and leaching into oblivion.

 

They are the ‘blue whisperers’, the inescapable notes of woe, unseen, unbidden, artful seductresses, from the dark voids of the back of beyond.

 

In the green vales and mystic dells, where a distant skylark trill dithyrambic odes,

when the solemn dun twilight cast tranquil grey dapples, 

that caper to the mellow strains of the breeze,

they lurk in the mournful blue shade of simpering aspens,

trembling leaves of which coquet with the lusty gusts of a sultry summer.    

 

On misty azure mornings, they dawdle over sullen, sleepy rivers and placid lakes,

where all the leaden grief from the heavens above,

 pour into the veins of the earth as rivulets of ashen-shrouded ember from the hearth.                                        

                 

Soaking up the plaintive sighs of the snowbird,

they snuggle up to the canary yellow dawn,

 subtly darning a wispy bluish-lilac on the distant horizon, 

elegiac laments of eons, petrified as passionate lilac gloom in the flaming Baltic amber.

 

 

Great dissemblers of shade, callous illusionists in disguise, 

damsels, bleeding hues of blue as they whirl around,

tinting monotone indigo on the spring canvas,

crystallizing the dreams of angels in  static sapphire,

tainting the hearts brimmed with honeydew in chalices of cyan,

ensnaring glints of desire in splintered moonstone,

they whisper in tones of blue in a hushed voice,

dissonant echoes of which weave an eerie silence, a hollow tranquil,  bare bleakness, and cold emptiness,

in the guise of bewitching enchantresses.

They are the ‘blue whisperers’ from the back of beyond.

Copyright © deepanairrp