Planting Dreams

By Geethanjali Dilip

When Poetry doesn’t flow anymore from my soul,

Cos the monsoons washed them away,

Leaving just the red slush of swollen rivers,

Inundating the banks and fields of thoughts,

That went camping in the torrents,

And huddled under a canopy of languid reflections,

I wait for the sun to come out peeking through wisps of a season’s end,

Dig up the still soggy earth rich with sad and happy memories,

To plant dreams that would stay behind in a forest, I call my own,

Where branches would fall, fruits would rot, moss would proliferate,

Mushroom and mould would invade the dingy shadows,

Till all I see would be a green silhouette of hazy nostalgia,

Planting dreams is now my staring out of the window moment,

Through the transparency of my wayward thoughts,

Blooming as cacti right outside the windows of my sight.

By Geethanjali Dilip