Today, I woke up to a pastel-hued morning;
had a platter of maple dreams for breakfast!
The sunrays stole their way through the vertical louvers of the window blinds and
strobed around my room.
The sequins off my dress scattered on the floor
reminded me of our clandestine tryst last night.
The mosaic verses and the innocuous times,
the sudden crescendo of happy hysteria midst our prosaic lives
that made me compose haptics poesy that I could prod on somber noons.
The roaring gush of wind shook me up from my ictus;
the concerto of the drizzle broke my slumber and plunged me into the abyss of reality.
I tumbled headlong;
my body heavy like tectonic plates
awaiting a seismic release.
The rhetoric of grief gradually gnawed at my maple dreams.
Am I still your inamorata?
I try to sleep again,
for my dreams are a safer place.
Debarati Sen works at the Presidency University, Kolkata as a Junior Assistant. She is also an independent researcher in the genre of Disability Studies and a freelancer with an International NGO named JPS Medaid. Writing is therapeutic for her.
Art by Aykut Aydoğdu.