Death of My Dreams

I sit on the porch of my house with my legs spread out,

To let the rain wash them and the drops pinch me a little,

My eyes are stuck at the gate as I try to ignore my doubts,

Of whether you will walk in as I, in anticipation swallows my spittle. 

I am distracted by the sweet aroma of the Assamese tea,

Coming from the kitchen where Amma is busy preparing it,

To help calm my nerves and pull me out of my cognitive agony,

As I end up considering myself an imperfect misfit.

I am still waiting for you to walk in completely drenched,

So that I can join you and tell you one of my new tales,

And let my constantly functioning ideas, thoughts and feeling retrench,

Today’s tale is about the death of my dreams, with copious details.

So if you walk in today,

I might be able to bring my dreams back to life,

And if you do not appear to my heart’s dismay,

I will bury them in my garden as I walk out in the rain alone and continue to live in

strife.