TRUTH BETWEEN
DREAM AND DAY
R. K. SINGH
In the chilly deep of this winter
the shifting clouds wave hands.
Will the day keep all the promises of the dawn?
I see milky blood dripping down their nails.
There is nothing save the spirals of smoke
midst the swelling dreams rocked by waltzing sun
my thirst for sleep and rest is reduced
to orgiastic pain melting down
into the sea of barren academics
I search the red tears shed on the Cross
and face a mirage of abject helplessness
as truth carved out of myths between dream and day.