In Dreams, to Death

On the first day
in a moment of heat
he wrote a mellow read,
which found a mild readership
and declared he himself
a poet, with dreams big.

On the second day
he wrote again,
an artful jumble
of thoughts deep,
he sent the same
for publishing—
the words returned
with a message:
‘Not Seen’.

On the third day
he sighed to work,
put pen to paper
and wrote (he thought)
something better.
He showed it to
a friend who said
it was total shit!

On the fourth day
he filled a cup
with wine,
red and pure,
with hopes to summon
a whim in him
to write with some ease.
But instead,
he drank the day
and himself to sleep.

On the fifth day
he woke to read
his first work again—
the foreign words
and rhymes unique,
he recognised as his!
“It happened once;
I shall try again,
in a final push
to claim my hand
at writing poetry.”

On the sixth day
in the early hours,
he lit a light
to warm himself—
feeling well to pen
a painful rhythm
of divine reach—
but, before that he could,
his light fell on the paper heap,
burning his house
and him within it.

On the seventh day
amongst sloppy rain,
he was buried behind
in the cemetery.
His epitaph read
from his only poem
a single line:
“In dreams you must
trust your life
for all is within grasp
in this world full of wonders,
if only you dared try!”

Tejas A. Jha is a student of law, with an awe for the world of art, poetry and music. He has now declared himself a poet and is extra careful with his lights and paper.

Featured image credit: Pariplab Chakraborty