I do not like the places I go to, in my dreams. My sadness at separation From the beloved children Is, while being worked on, Hidden deep in my heart. The sorrow of the end Of more than three decades of marriage Lurks there, too, In the dark crevices of my heart The wrongs I have done: the hurts I have caused The many things I could have done better…. All these are not, as I thought, Dealt with, and forgotten. They hang, with sharp little burrs, In my subconscious mind. Perhaps this is why I rarely dream; Because, when I do, I go to these places. I feel, once again, What I do not want to feel. That I thought I’d discarded… No, I just seem to have buried them Beyond the reach of my everyday thoughts. They come out, and mock me. Sadness, loneliness, regrets: They once again assail me. I wish they would not. I do not like the places I go to, in my dreams.
First my daughter had two Banjara girls, whom she asked to thread together various name beads for all of KTB’s friends at Urban Sprouts, the daycare back home:
Yesterday I was far too knocked out by the migraine, but this morning, I did wake up in time to leave for my walk by 5.45 am. It was the lovely “ushat kAlam” ..the pre-dawn darkness slowly glowing into ambient light.
After I left, she’s been learning more songs at Urban Sprouts, her day care….