My Christmas Carol
K. Radhakumar *
One thing is for sure
The talking animals and birds
Of my early childhood days—
They are dead and gone.
What about the child?
Dead and gone too?
No, say my dreams
I often relive my past,
Listen endlessly
To my inner voice.
I grope through the darkness
Not the darkness of the night-time
But of the daytime.
Mine is a mystery tour
And I get lost in this noisy city.
I look at myself in a mirror.
My working judgment
Asks the friend in the mirror:
Who are you?
I look for myself in my dream
But cannot see;
I dream strange dreams.
I am no Freud
And do not try to interpret my dreams.
I can feel all my dreams
Sucked down into the whirlpool of experience.
I am alive and kicking in my dreams
And sickly in my waking hours.
Between waking and sleeping
I also live through dreamlike states.
The totality of my experience
I cannot put it down logically
In the diary of my life;
It is in a state of mental flux—
I can feel it in my bones.
There is no umbilical cord
Connecting the waking hours to sleep.
* Poem written by K. Radhakumar which was published at The Sangai Express
This poem was posted on December 26, 2016.
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