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. 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.