Ajit Das Poems

I weave my dreams:
big and small
of different hues;
some lost, some realised.
...

Different snapshots, a moving kaleidoscope -
life expresses itself in contrasting ways,
while leaving footprints on the sands of time.
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Still reminiscent of red and blue beacons,
you behave sometimes like a spoilsport,
dragging others into the hay day of your past,
when you were something to gloat about.
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I’m not sure I know much about you.
But they say you exist;
that’s why the earth moves, life breathes.
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I'm a poor mortal dwelling in a city ghetto,
working hard for a living all day long.
What I earn suffices only for daily needs.
Induced by a fellow dweller next door,
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No moon sailing through patches of clouds,
nor any flower bed flashing riot of colours,
or even a face blushing with hazel eyed glance;
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I dream of designing a mindscape,
painting it with the colours
of love, affection, fraternity.
The brush glides over their contours,
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Are you missing out something
the holy book of wedlock
cannot offer?
Perhaps it’s a reality:
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A bit persistent, rain has finally left.
The sky is a stretch of blue,
withdrawn, uninterrupted.
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When too near,
love seems poised
on ever losing fear.
Let it stock
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