Summer’s Dream

Between sea and smoke
where shall i seek you
when there’s no moon in the sky
and my finger grow frail
in your absence
where shall i paint you?

When the lights go off
will the illumination too?
The Fakir at Dargah knows
not why he is blinded.
Beloved is all he sees.
Beloved is all he seeks.

I am a refugee
cloaking fears and desires.
Seven masks for seven days
I am all. I am none.

Carefully creased memories lie
intertwined with folded threads of my being
I am afraid, I cannot wear myself
anymore.

But, let’s hold hand,
and walk in synchronised steps.
Let’s jump over the gates of
thoughts and free them all.
Let them fly away.
We are our own thoughts.
We are our own captors.