Of ancient lands and mythical streams,
Sweeping pastures where starlight gleams.
The vibrant green and marine blue,
Between them a thousand wondrous hue.
This is the glorious world we lost,
Our present on future has rendered a cost.

A world now only in dreams entrapped,
The pastures, the streams and lands unmapped.
Marvels only the night can unlock,
Of lives beyond time and ticking clock.
A splendid genesis of quaint mystery,
Fables and lores forged in prehistory.

Beyond the distant pelagic climes,
Far where the wedgebill chimes,
Deep forests where tigers prowl,
On moonlit nights the grey wolves howl.
Of sublime design this dream I dared,
In chains of pedantry is ensnared.

The strict straight lines of daily reality,
Perpendicular lanes in perfect symmetry,
Harsh street lights and electric wires,
Astray cynics in dull attires.
Air thick with doubt, fear and smog,
And noxious vocables of the demagogue.

Away from this daily strife and brawl,
And sights that invoke thoughts banal,
Lies the silver land of visions eternal,
Where breezes blow melodies of songs vernal.
There, hopes germinate into abundant flora,
With method shrouded in obscure anaphora.

But the trees turn ashen and the sky grows dark,
The land once resplendent is now stark.
As grey morning dawns the alarm clock sounds,
The dream breaks and the vision drowns.
I wake up drowsy on my austere wooden bed,
And start to plan my dreary day ahead.



First published on Visual Verse Vol 9 Chapter 11 (September 2022 Issue)

© Abhijit Chatterjee