Akila

Contours of my dream

s – p – a – c – e – d
on the clock.

The pauses pause to breathe
through walls built of things and
shadows.

(My trunk of no return has a one – eyed green teddy
with a ripped nose and a torn leg sewn by Amma)

I spread them on a carpet of stars, find one
on the edge of a fairy’s wand
who disappears into the hackneyed
leaving the feet for shards that silence
cricket songs.

(I am running, falling, fading into a naught
of an unseen, unsaid, unsought)

I mount, they surmount
a pile up of the subconscious
until the dawn moon when a koel
plays the acoustics of the night.

Faces, places, sounds,
the doorbell of morning,
a mirage of images

I store them without a label.

Contours of your dream

You sleep walk
on grains of sand that filter
through your sun -dappled -fingers.
You know not how to reverse
the flow of sand and time
(neither do I)

You sleep talk
of words that are unbroken
by the day.
They own your phonic nights
when you claim to be chased
by a ghost.

Is it a dream that you lost?

or is it the sand clock
that came home with a board game
whimpering in your trunk
under a heap of toys,
untouched.

Let us find a troll, instead,
to breathe your six years
forever in a gossamer skin of memory
when you begin to parade
in mascara.

Till then
sleep walk
sleep talk
dear girl

Contours of their dream

On the path where they sprout
like an offshoot of spring
and desiccated.

A bun of raven black hair,
glass bangles,
a metal string for the neck
and a nose-ring

The mirror is their skin
smelling of earth.
Deodorants and eau de cologne
are for the urban dust.

For her it is today
of two bags of wares to sell,
a baby cuddling her chest and
whispers glued to the bare bosom.

Words are alien to her and the baby.
There is nothing to feed her restless wails
from a dry bark of a body
but to slap a silence

The baby’s pale cheek drinks the blueprint
of her mother’s hand
wrinkled of light
…none in their eyes.

The baby weeps and forgets
till she forgets to weep
like her mother.


AkilaAkila juggles her muse with her consulting assignments, home and a seven-year-old daughter. She has read and conducted workshops at the Writers Carnival Hyderabad organized by Nivasini Publishers. She is also a core group member of the Twin City Poetry Club, Hyderabad

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