Dreamscape [A Haibun]
I
have never seen kangaroos face to face, but in my dreams, I saw a
profusion of them- all aquiver in the frost- festooned- fields of a chilly
morning. In another dream, I saw myself hopping and skipping, to pluck icicles
from the awning of my ancestral house in Kashmir. Ah, it still glowed with the
ardour of a newborn, although it had only been renovated with caresses and
healing touches, filled once again with the unending fire of loving warmth.
Can
you believe it, in that other dream, I even saw one kangaroo eyeing me from the
corner of its eye. Soon the eye grew bigger, and in an impulsive moment, the
joey hopped out from the safe confines of its mother’s pouch, scurried towards
me, a glint in its eyes, and took me in a joey- hug. A joeyous hug,
rather. What an unimaginably warm feeling it was! Did I look like a kangaroo
mother, or just a mother, body pulsating with maternal love? Whatever Joey’s
confusion was, I glowed, hugging it back. I yanked myself out of the
dreamscape. In the adjoining house, a grandfather sitting in his patch of
verdant lawn was cuddling a pair of curly-haired twins. The sun yawned a
languorous yawn and immediately fell in love with their curly tresses. The
sunrays lisped good morning greetings to the twins, and they chortled in
unison- as only twins can.
I
smelt something sweet-
the unmistakable, heart-warming smell
of a toddler waking
The Fractured Reality
I heard a muffled whinny from somewhere.
Had someone captured my horses-
my horses of imagination?
I could hear one horse squealing.
Were the men in the stable
discussing family dynamics?
The horses kicked and neighed,
weighing the possibilities of galloping back
onto the scene.
One gelding started nosing toward my pocket.
I kept a tight rein on this energetic one,
but it brushed me with its velvety nose.
“You want a scratch, huh?” I cooed,
riveted by the cinnamon flecks in one of the men’s eyes.
Hey, I could hear the cinnamon colour speak.
Synesthesia?
Then the grey of the clouds spoke too.
But the words were a rumble.
Probably some speech impediment.
What was the cue, now?
The ribbons of clouds halted in their tracks,
the grey vanished, and so did the voice.
Suddenly the horses of imagination
were no longer caged.
A figure was heading toward me with two tumblers,
mumbling incoherently.
He handed them to me.
Then I saw a pitcher of iced tea and lemon wedges.
The yellow of the lemon wedge spoke,
poking me out of my reverie.
I looked around at the fractured reality, wordlessly.
The colours had fallen silent. Bizarre,
but true.
The upside-down world, the distortion, the fractured reality
was frowning comically and jeering at me in unabashed hilarity.
The Octogenarian and the Dachshund
It was autumn and the beginning of winter.
Scenes of her youth flashed on her mental screen.
The world seemed to be in a torpor.
Suddenly she yearned for fudge brownies
like she did in those good old days of childhood.
“Who are you?” Asked the surroundings.
“You- you- you, screeched
the rude parakeet
hanging upside down from a tree.
Yearning for goodies in the autumn of
your life?
She read meaning in those screeches and was sad.
Across the street, she saw a dachshund glaring at her.
Would it break into belligerent barks, teeth snarling?
She tried to glare it into silence, but it glared back.
In its dark, beady eyes, she saw death.
I am not ready, I am not ready, she mumbled,
getting up and staggering on unsteady feet.
Was the dog gnashing its teeth?
It came dashing towards her, bounding, bouncing,
hopping, vaulting, skipping, and bobbing.
She quaked in every bone. Should she fling a stone?
Frightened, she tightened her grip on her walking stick.
No gruff barks or tough sharks could scare her now.
She had her weapons.
But, lo and behold! The bleak thoughts disappeared.
Demons skulking in her mind scurried away too.
As she gaped, the dachshund slumped down at her feet,
waiting for a cuddle. Maybe even a pat or two.
No longer muddled, her wrinkles twinkled
as she bent down to cuddle the dachshund,
rolling at her feet. Oh boy! Covered by a honeyed sheen
of the rising sun, the dachshund, and the octogenarian
were a picture of sparkling joy.
Santosh Bakaya - is Multiple award-winning
poet, novelist, short story writer, biographer, TEDx Speaker, essayist,
creative writing mentor, internationally acclaimed for her poetic biography of
Mohan Das Karam Chand Gandhi, Ballad of Bapu, Dr. Santosh
Bakaya’s more than twenty- three published books encompass multiple
genres. Recipient of the Reuel International Award, [Poetry,
2014], Setu International Award in recognition of her ‘stellar contribution
to world literature’, 2018 [Pittsburgh, USA], and Eunice De
Souza Award, 2023 [WE Literary Community] for 'rich and diverse
contribution to poetry, Literature, and Learning', she runs a
popular column, Morning Meanderings in Learning and
Creativity. Com.
Superb poetry, dear Santosh! Enjoyed the haibun too! As always, you are awesome! Shine on my friend! Best Wishes & Affectionate regards. Paddy
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