What is real? Am I real?
Or have I become one with those I love?
Have I diffused into those I love?
A set of primrose curtains,
Frame the windows clear,
The primrose – a delicate, pink flower,
I am within the primrose curtains,
I move slowly upwards, reaching the top,
The highest spot,
The hook connecting curtain to window.
The top of the window, cold as ice,
This can’t be wondered at, for it’s white,
I flow backwards through the curtain,
Linen or muslin? I cannot tell,
The material feels dense, compressed,
I am part of it, I am the curtain,
The petals of the primroses are fresh,
The stalk tastes acid; no wonder for it is sap,
Folded and sewn towards the end,
I drift out of the curtain, smoother than a river.
I have fallen into the coffee table,
Dark mahogany, deliciously suffocating,
A rich texture, reminder of strong coffee,
To flow is hard, the density is high,
I am now the table, I try flowing into each leg,
A vase of orange flowers stand on this table,
A newspaper nearby, unfolded, ready to read,
Let me flow harmlessly into the newspaper,
I am now news,
I am rising into the air, being read cover to cover.
I am whatever you want me to be,
All that is right, you may be sure,
I flow into the corner of the page,
Blankness, oblivion, no words, pictures,
I see a blue sleeve cuff,
Just beyond, a golden ring,
Blue, I flow into it, sky blue, light blue,
Perhaps a cloudless sky,
Maybe a soft breeze is blowing,
In reality it is cotton, freshly laundered cotton,
Only the cotton is melting, it is expanding,
I have fallen into the sky.
No clouds, no wind,
I only imagined the draught,
Associating clear sky with light breeze,
The breeze of affection, the sky of security,
No wind, no change, no clouds, no threat to security,
What am I doing? I am flowing away from the sky.
The sky, I can feel it condensing,
Freeze, condense, ice, icy blue,
No, it is not ice, I can see an individual stitch,
Line upon line, row upon row, it is becoming cotton,
It is once more a cotton cuff,
I flow towards the ring, a wedding ring,
It is so solid, I am afraid I will collide with it,
No I am in, and vow is it cold,
I am flowing in circles, metallic, malleable.
I am flexible, it is solid, rigid, and yet smooth,
I am rising in the air, slowly, upwards,
Maybe the hand wearing the ring has met another,
A like hand, yes I can see,
I shall fall out of this ring in a minute,
Yes, the ring I see is on the finger of a right hand,
This hand meets another, a left hand,
Also wearing a wedding ring, on the ring finger,
The two palms meet, slowly but surely,
The fingers and thumb, one hand dark, the other lighter,
Interclasp in the sign of eternal love.
I flow gently from one ring to the other,
The ring is similar, both in colour and tone,
The former resembles freshly baked bread,
The latter the honeysuckle and daffodil,
At last the hands part after a long moment,
Yes, this ring is cold, like ice water, like snow,
I flow in circles, one ring resembles the other,
The one symbolised the bold and gallant,
The other the patience and wisdom,
At long last do the hands part,
The left lifts me within the ring, to the unknown.
The hand takes some dough,
From a portion will it roll,
A pancake, crisp,
To fold in half upon a plate,
I wish I could help, I flow from the ring,
I drift into the bowl of flour,
Rising upwards with the flour,
I fly to and fro, scattering it,
As the rolling pin rolls the dough,
At last all is done, and I land,
Upon a wine red mat.
The mat is shiny, a dozen are spread,
A deep vibrant red, reminds me of chilli,
I flow through the mat,
Taking in its compressed texture,
I feel intoxicated, I must drift out,
Else I develop a headache,
I fall into a glass of mango juice,
Ahh deliciously refreshing,
I can almost taste it,
The actual fruit I imagine was athletic.
I fall onto the polished floor,
I drift up, into a shoulder,
The shoulder of a green selvar kameez,
I think of the springy grass,
I inhale deeply the lavender fragrance,
An essence of mint,
I flutter away, landing on a pink letter,
The letter is fragile, I sink through it,
Falling into a chocolate cake,
I see opposite, another cake,
One that is on display,
Identical to the other.
I flow into another shoulder,
One in a sunshine yellow sari,
I am rocking to and fro,
Perhaps because the shoulder is moving,
Engaged in a dance maybe,
Now the shoulder is still,
Resting on a sofa or,
Leaning against an auto rixa seat.
I have fallen into a different shoulder,
A crisps ironed suit,
Which hangs in its shimmering folds,
The twilight black, the snow silver,
I envisage a silvery lake,
So deep it is unknown,
I fall from the dominent folds,
Into the silver stiching,
I then drift until I find,
A soft blue shirt in glistening folds,
Laid neatly upon a far end bed.
I lean against it, serene and secure,
I fall into it,
Remembering the glow of the rising sun,
Imaging row upon row of coconut nougat,
I flow out and through a window,
I slide down the rail of a smooth staircase,
The stairs are white as the snow,
I drift into arches of roses,
I meander in and out through them,
I pass a car, a silver Suzuki.
I rapidly fly on gossamer wings,
I notice my best friend and soul mate,
I see his black hat on a stand,
I drift into it, an English style hat,
I leave him in peace; I know he has her life,
I disagree that it is immature,
To place him on a pedestal, to write of him,
I want him to be happy,
Even if it is not with me,
I drift away from the hat.
I glance at him, his dark eyes,
His short, straight, dark brown hair,
So what if he has changed,
From how he was when I first fell for him,
I’ve known him on and off for years,
He’s still my soul mate,
I am there for him if he ever needs me,
He is free; I think he is an angel,
I flutter away, I only ask for his friendship,
Though I shall never cease to love him.
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