Purple dreams

I dream in purple sometimes,

It’s my happy colour

It swirls and twirls in my brain

And lulls me back to sleep.

Last night I was a purple unicorn

My horn was sweet and spice

My bed smelled of lavender

My breath was warm and summer-like.

I stepped off into a purple sea

My tail grew and so did I

I’m a Grecian sea horse now,

I can taste the purple waves.

Then I saw the edge of time

Where the purple sky met the sea

My wings twitched and jerked

I hid among the purple clouds.

 

 

It was the first day of Spring,

I took off my shoes and toed the grass

Morning dew still within

Tickled my toes and calmed my soul.

A lonely yellow flower

Poked its head through the ground,

I patted it and murmured,

‘Welcome back, dear old friend’ !

Children played on the swings,

Happy families all around

I looked about and met your eye

A chord twanged in my heart.

The wind was playing with your hair,

You smiled and I smiled back

In your bright blue eyes,

I saw an ocean storm swell.

Your thoughts wove a canvas

Flared up my daydreams and nights

Your touch like an ember

That lit a fire under my skin.

This seems like a moment of truth,

Is it a passing fancy,

Or dare I say the word,

‘Love’ in all its fury ?

Where do we go from here,

To the pastures of everlasting joy,

To love and to keep forever

Or the glass case of broken dreams

To forget and be forgotten…

 

 

 

 

She spent every summer vacation at her great aunt’s place in the countryside, a respite from the city and it’s pervasive loneliness. There, among the mango trees and the paddy fields, she felt truly alive. There were other children to play with, and oodles of open ground just to laze around in. The sky was blue all day everyday, the sun bright and the landscape inviting.

That was the first time ever they had done anything wayward, so to speak. It wasn’t exactly a risky endeavour, since they weren’t even leaving the property. But it felt exhilarating just the same, the thrill of doing something forbidden no matter how tame it was. They stole away at night after the grown ups were asleep, and walked to the stream past the fields. The night was a little chilly, though not unusually so. The strips dividing the fields were so narrow that they had to walk in a single file, like ants treading a line, while the moonlight streamed over them in a silvery cascade. They walked by the palm trees, past  the small fishing pond in the centre and beyond the line of trees at the edge whose names she did not know.

Someone had swiped a bottle of whiskey from her uncle’s bar. They passed it around, each taking a swallow, shuddering and handing off the offending item to the next person. She gently lowered herself on to the grass and stared at the pinpricks in the inky sky. She could feel the alcohol traversing her body, all the way to her bones.  Someone had started singing, in a voice that should never be raised in song. The stream flowed on and on, its melody uninterrupted and serene.