Pictures from the old box always take us to the forgotten past.
Waking from the illimitable sleep, now my old body is submerged into the deep sea, I slip into a new outer shell. Only consciousness crosses over. Variegated feathers ascend me beyond the imagination of this world.
At least I still have eyes, I’m seeing in the same color spectrum. I spit out the bitter waking solution, confining tongue and taste remain. My spacious lungs bilking the fragrance air from the silent grandeur of desert.
The infidel strolls over, without a care in the world, not having been compressed into a nightmare. The dreams they tell us, are the passageway. When we wake up a new world will be possible. It looks the same to me. Old pictures and pellucid memories always try to burgeon the old stories.
My name is Ashutosh and I am from India. A country with different cultures and colors. These factors gives me the motive to write. Poems gives me the joy of life, which is beyond the imagination of this world.