Reena Prasad writes

Sweetly Sour

There isn’t a word self-deprecating enough

for the feeling that engulfed me

when a red filament glowed in my dark cellar

and knowledge shoved its hands, twisting itself

into the cosy crevice which sheltered me,

pulling delicate membranes of thought apart

till it ensured a slit

large enough to let day in

while tongue extended, I waited

for the honeyed dew to drip

and shrewd mice ran around,

waiting for stray tidbits

When light flooded the hole,

streaming slants of dust particles danced

where hitherto a rainbow had languidly posed

revealing planned palaces

balanced on strong foundations

by those who passed the sugar pot

while flitting through my dark corridors

Staring now at my blank wall, standing as

a prop, upholding their dream

I smile and dream on,

throwing a fluffy stole over some misgivings

determined not to dim their lights

for my castle was conjured within

a reckless bubble of implicit trust