Just A Dream!

 

(dead muse?)

 

I am alive, ticking and sick, worried about the possible onset of a somewhat premature senile dementia…

 

I do have a block about writing- I am getting freakish dreams about having become a destitute- perhaps it is symbolic of the lack of poetic inspiration, and the need to look after the daily needs of life as such!

 

This night’s dream was about sleeping on the poor house beds- vividly, living in rooms of 5’x7′ with self and wife (perhaps!), and the wife went missing (as usual, she does that in all my dreams, thank God!), as were the four walls of the room. The place was awfully dirty, with shallow overflowing open drains. I even saw open human e****ta and puke near the place…

 

The people were rather well dressed, not very quarrelsome, but once someone left his or her bed, he or she would never get the same bed again. In fact in my dream, I spent three successive nights in that place, each evening growing worse as far as company goes- more and more talkative ones landed up, making the nights closer to Big Boss shows.

 

There was this tout who said he would get me a job on day one, and tied a ticket to my wrist, “JS2451964”- my own phone number to be exact!

 

I walked along with him, and he started talking to so many people en-route to the place of interview- most got the ticket with similar markings, “JS2XXXXXX”. And then he vanished!

 

So I came back, and started looking for a bed. Damn irritating!

 

I knew that there were entire families sleeping on beds in that massive hall- from the voices I heard from time to time, but could never make out the forms of the speakers.

 

I have a problem here- I cannot even recollect the faces of the people I met!

 

That reminds me… the entire place was lit by fluorescent lamps and there were no shadows…

 

Not surprisingly, the place had a roof and an effective central air conditioning too!

 

I want to sleep- I cannot shed my day trousers again, and have to keep my shoes below the pillow, in accordance with the signs pasted on the pillow- and to keep my hands folded over my chest as I sleep!

 

Soon I knew what the place signified-

 

A mortuary!

 

Who knows what I would dream up next…

We welcome your comments at letters@friedeye.com