Vikramaditya Maity


Dreams - Poem by Vikramaditya Maity

Thought I’d sit by you and dream a while
Of horizons that stretch many a mile
Of dusty feet, two free souls
Walking, through totem poles, to the earth’s poles
Silvery skies that look down on sands
Sands still fresh with dreams, and hopes
Burdened by stones
Stones that climb on top of one another
Towards the sky
Stones that gods saw
Stones atop a lion’s paw.

I hold your hand, float away
To sentinels in the midst of verdant greens
Or are they just Lego blocks
Some divine being playing with rocks
More of their brothers
Guarding Easter waves
I look up, see..
A tower stands, calling time
Echoing a prisoner’s wail, every chime
Somewhere at the top is perched
A queen’s pride,
Wrapped in so many slaves’ hide
I walk past another
More arty, cultural, slender, graceful
Smacking a little of snobbery
“No culture, my God, the world is frightful! ”
A nation of displays,
Of museums, and hedonistic role-plays
With you, I walk these thoroughfares
Try to realize..
To what I should open my eyes

Cracked earth, the dusty feet again
I laugh, play with you
In beautiful cactus, paltry sands
At being cowboys and Let-the-sky-see-your-hands
We ride through taverns
With funny midway doors
Sit on bar-stools, with spurs
Hoping John Wayne breaks the doors
Adventurers on horses for a while
I think of fires at wigwams, and the Great Outdoors
Why I see beauty
In Bronte’s moors

Horses elsewhere, you and I as knights
In castles and moats, we talk of why
Capitalism is better than men in green tights
We cross a line
And a neighbour cat-calls
“A nation of cross-dressers”
I see but people forged from rock
Hear bravery echoing in the highlands
Nowhere any pansies in skirts
We walk enchanted as the Piper blows
I walk into another dream
Of terracotta rows
An army playing “Statue! ”
A cocoon in a Great Wall.
The compass points south, little away
A civilization under glass,
in display
I try and see..the mother cooking, a child at play
I turn to see you staring, hearing
Giggles in the Great Bath
Straight angles, stone path
First civilization..who drew first blood
The green monsters, or the great flood? ?

We look down at a ring of dust
Dust marked by blood
Of warriors who died for game
Playing to the crowds, bleeding
All in “Pax Romana”’s name
Steps on steps, children try echoes
People talking about culture
Pretending not to know
I think of the dungeons beneath
The walls that saw men in a long death row
I wish the crowd then had got up to go
But am I different
I gossip of a dead princess
While taking pizzas on the go.

You hold my hand, draw me close
The Doomsday shiver goes
You lead me from there
To a different land
Where ice rides the rivers
And famous cranes stand
On one leg, thinking
Of a journey beyond here
To a place of ropey ladders, and fakir’s lair
I tell one to talk in the bazaars there
Of my own Grimms’ tale
How I met a princess
In the midst of desert sands

I come out of my dreams
We walk out to the waves
Watching eddies on the sand
Thinking of mules, myths
And El Dorado’s land.


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Poem Submitted: Sunday, October 9, 2005



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