Voices in my Dream

She speaks in the wind, several voices

drifting by the night in November breeze.

Fireflies dance to the bagpipe somewhere.

Leaves sway in the hard cold breeze.

The melodies are often intimate,

like lyrical whispers of a confidante.

Suddenly she shouts-a thunderous storm,

vicious, clamoring, distorted and raw.

In the cool night, indifferent and gay

she secretly chuckles, an inside joke.

Tugging crimson ribbons from tangled hair,

she ties them out of reach, in a high wood.

Hours of rugged conversations

are soon silenced by her chattering chill.

She suddenly speaks before spoken to,

although, few will offer any protest.

She celebrates her loved bondage

Taking out all the night in my dream.

Suddenly she vanishes alongwith the dream

Bowing out just before morning’s advent.