In a vivid dream, I once saw
A barren land with no law.
A smell of clothes,
filled with dust
And a fancy wrapper,
ready to be crushed.
But not,
Not until A pot smashes
A boy can be seen there.
In haste, he collects the pieces
And locates a place
to dislocate the clay.

O, I remember the dream
In which the boy runs
To catch butterflies
And hums A-B-C every time
And steals toffees
from his Granny’s box
And O, I remember
the way he calls mother
from his bathroom door.

And O, I remember
The scent of baby powder
running from
that boy’s dress

And O, I remember
The boy who sat in the verandah
In the blistering heat of June, noting his days
before his birthday.

And O, I remember
The boy used to question to
every world’s conundrum.

O, I remember
How amused I was
After watching the silence
Of the mouth of
that naughty boy in public
And also,
I know the creative mind
Of that boy
Who created stories to tell

Suddenly,
The time shooks
And the dream ends
Making me wondering

“What if God gave us one more chance to go through this.”