The river of dreams bisects the city into old and new, rich and poor.
At night when the river is inky black, reflecting the pale moon and her attendant clouds, boatmen navigate the sleeping waters while looking westwards at pinpoints of light. These are oil lamps, carefully hoarded, low-lit, illuminating the hard work of seamstresses, tailors and cobblers. From the waters, they look like wistful desires, cherished prayers offered to unseeing deity.
The east bank of the river burns with lanterns, fire-candles and electric sparks. The boatmen rarely look that way.
Such brilliance is beyond them. It hurts their eyes.
4 responses so far ↓
Aishwariya // May 7, 2008 at 8:25 pm
Wow.
PARESH // June 9, 2008 at 6:33 am
dreams are smthing like painting an inner picture, gets its own shapes n fills the colour as more, depth as u intend to look into it,the fact is it is one´s belief which drives the instincts with stimulus of sleep !!!
PARESH // June 9, 2008 at 6:40 am
awesome ! dreams r like instincts , based on stimulus of sleep
!!!
fleetingglimpses // June 9, 2008 at 12:51 pm
Aishwariya - thanks, glad you liked it.
Paresh - I didn’t mean “dreams” as literally as you took it, but if it sparked a thought-burst in you, then my job as writer is done.
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