Story of a Dream
Who else would dream
Such a dream?

I was having a dream, a very pleasant one,
It began almost like a nightmare.
It was our home, quite dark inside;
On the floor, their entrails spilling,
Bodies of children lay about
Like rats run over by vehicles.
I trod cautiously, taking long steps.
But walking on running blood
My soles were sticky anyway.

Very carefully, with great effort,
I emerged, opening the door,
There lay before me a long road unrolled.
In the distance, hazy and blurred,
Some people were strolling too.
Gun barrels stick out in neat rows
From both the left and right side of the road.
Muzzles of guns –
Even in the nooks and shaded spots
Of fields and meadows.
One gun barrel near my cheek,
Another muzzle beside my lips.

Someone yelled – “Fire”
Oh, they’ve opened fire, I’ve been shot.
A bullet struck my cheek.
What’s this!
Is being shot by a gun as silky as the caress
Of a young woman’s hand!
How happy I was being shot,
This bullet shooting into my mouth
Was also a mellow grape.
I shouted – if grapes are bullets
Shoot me again and again.

Like June’s deluge
They were shooting relentlessly.
There piled up before me – grapes, almonds, raisins.
It was hilarious!
It was hilarious – the sound of gunfire,
It was the soothing strain of the flute, the sitar, the violin.
It was more hilarious than I can tell –
Flowers of lovely colours
Blossomed from the barrels of the guns.
A soft wind began to blow gently,
Sunlight of virgin gold streamed over hills and valleys,
Parties of young women
Their hair redolent with the scent of herbs and
Faces blooming with joy began to walk
Gracefully before happy young men.
The elderly too walked all spruced up
As if on their way to a wedding.
Women on their way to the marketplace,
Women returning, greeted each other cheerfully,
And laughed in unison.

This is all a dream.
I’m dreaming, I know, while I’m still asleep.
Even so, I don’t want to wake up just yet.

Who else would dream such a dream?