Counting the Sheep. by Anindita Sarkar

I close my eyes
my mind becomes a sheep
crossing fences,
fences that I can't cross consciously,
she enters a savanna
swimming across the shrubbery
scenting deliverance,
the moon peers at her
the air sings soprano,
she wants to savour,
partake the cherry fruit of liberation
and share secrets with the breeze
she knows they are not traitors
not shape-shifters like water.
Silly naive little sheep
she doesn’t realize,
the creepy eyes keep ogling at her
not one, not two, but
several hundred corneas
cast a murderous glance
while she sways callously
on the hammock of
cypress and sycamore
soaked in bejewelled dreams
and an endless series of envisions.
I open my eyes
I have seen the tragic ending
nearly a thousand times :
a leash of tentacles
muffles up her neck,
patches of sanguine
vividly bloom on her skin,
she lies soundless, unrivalled, her eyes open
still dreaming of wings.

Anindita Sarkar is a Research Scholar from India. Her works have appeared in The Bombay Review, Litbreak, Kitaab International, Poetry Potion Review among others.