I have this dream,
a recurring dream.
Of an unlit sprawling place… a house.
Its windows are alive
They look at you like eyes
Unseeing, cold, insurmountable space.

This house is in a maidan
The maidan has a gate.
Im standing outside sometimes… I’m peering through
the unhinged, broken gate.
It’s always raining in my dream
and I’m always trying to find
A roof; a dry place
Sometimes I look at the house from outside its broken, partly open gates
And sometimes I’m inside the gate

I’m always wet
I’m always outside the house

My clothes are sticking to me
My eyes are burning dry
I can see the house
The walls, they sag and whine.

The dull hiss of the steady rain
The nothingness of the sky
This endless nightmare
The spiraling infinite game.

The walls that aren’t walls
This gate that can’t be shut
This fortress of a front door, the hollow in my gut
The place I can never enter
The place I can never get out
I am the inneroutsider
The insider who is always out.

DAY 3,
(c) Vinitha