An enigmatic surreal poem, by Amanita, exclusively for Different Truths.

Last night I dreamt of a candle
A yellow of a rare kind
Tapering into a brilliant black
The best that the night could find.

Hands drawn close neatly by,
I pirouetted on my toe,
Tchaikovsky’s Swan, was like how I felt
Or I simply imagined so.

Beads of toil on my neck
I danced to the dead of the night
The candle held me in a trance
And it felt so utterly right!

Meditatively blue, it lit my body
As time seemingly still,
Intruded upon to melt the wax
To claim its own due fill.

Recklessly close, to the flame
I surely must have been
The smoke of charred human flesh
Could impending danger mean.

The olfactory nerves, apprehensive
Of the scent that’s new
Signals pain – raw and blunt
That appears so undue.

Is that murky, o my dream!
Is the blood untrue?
With a hoping heart, I ask the morn
Convictions anew.

The scalded flesh will turn to poems
The dewy morning says,
And in my dream the nimble dancer
With her candle plays.

Picture design Anumita Roy