Theme: Dream


by Ananya S Guha
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There are woods, wooded,
dressed in mushy thickets and old remembrances.
There are woods with animals,
playthings and nuggets.
There are woods in dilemma,
trees and grass in a morass,
with sheaves of rain,
slithering down huts and parched homes.
There are woods that are dry on a high,
with bystanders as silent passers by
in mushy erect wombs
of a day yet to be born.
We are shorn.
Yes, we are shorn,
of woods and their speedy catapults of desire.
We hire these woods of a strange nostalgia,
to be a raconteur of woods.
Woods that are desperate.
Woods with gunmen and con men.
Woods that are open.
Woods that are closed in wonder,
to tear asunder the myth of woods.
Image © Getty Images


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