My dreams are no more on sale.
The drummer auctioned his acoustic knell,
the crowds dispersed,
the bidders fled,
cobwebbed pavilions razed.

 

From the peep-hole of my unimpaired sight,
I envisage... the promised land not far away.
A charged sovereign of myself,
I command a post that animates,
call for encore, and I regale it
with a chanting prayer.
My dreams are no more on sale!

 

The falling star slowed down,
and dispelled all fears that it would mutilate.
Like me, it reassembled itself;
now in unison we ignite each other’s faith.
The astrally dazzle has joined us as well,
to glow my path and escalate
pledges eliciting actuality, that propel
my visioned mind to say:
“My dreams are no more for sale.”

 

1998

                          

Geeta Chhabra