At the end of each day
the dreamer finds himself always
in lands of immense darkness.
The groping then begins and continues
till the lotus pond opens up all at once
letting in the possibilities of the passing winds
in subtle shivers and quivers.
in a sacrifice like walk
he hears nothing sees nothing
gets on with the unwinding of the narrow path.
Occasionally a lightning strikes
smearing spit all over his tender cheeks.
The wetness thus makes him realize
that things are indeed ripening up for a big rain.
In utter despair he even thinks of
running for a quick cover
but at once realises that thick clouds
of unintentional mist have already gathered over his head.
Thunders drop in quick succession
whispering unknowable meanings into his ears.
The drench now seeming inevitable
he unleashes a great sigh
drops down the book
makes down the necessary notes
and walks away in a hurry
with the fragments of an un-built poem
hanging on to his hands.