A Midsummer Noon's Dream

(This is again one of the poems I wrote sometime back, again part of the Cubicle Poems collection. This is about a bizarre world, one where the compartments of fantasy are broken down and there is utter beautiful anarchy.)


The wood is dipped in yellow
This lazy afternoon.
Imps chase each other
Around the old banyan tree
While a witch doctor naps,
Overhead on a creeper hammock.
The gandharvas are out on a stroll
bright, radiant and tall.
Flowers shy away
behind leaves as they pass.


A poor Pootham sleeps
flopped under an Asoka tree,
exhausted from his search for Unni.
The little fairies, bright and gay
Pull at his hair and beard.
There, up on the guava tree,
monkeys slowly gather
and mothers point to their babies
the monkey God, Hanuman,
Lying under the tree, majestic
His eyes closed, a smile on his lips.


Elves play their harp to wide eyed hobbits
Brahmadaityas and poltergeists
Huddle in a corner whispering,
Planning their next mischief.
A cauldron lies empty on the grass
As a pair of witches nap near it.
Far above, on the tallest mango tree
Kuttichatan lazily lounges
as flower fairies tell him their tales.


The trees in an afternoon stupor,
Close their wise eyes to the madness of the woods.
The sunlight lazily filters in through the leaves.
Safe from all the sweet chaos,
beneath a yam leaf,
On a couple of toadstools,
You and I sip our
afternoon glasses of sunshine.