Skip to main content

A Dream

I live and breathe like a misplaced dream
In this labyrinthine construct of time;
Like a flower that blooms in the wrong garden;
Like a kite that soars in the wrong sky.

I try to find my place in this maze;
Where the horizon is a cerulean haze;
Where children are taught how to lie;
Where a flightless swallow dreams to fly;
Where tears burn the eyes like a pyre;
Where simplicity gets butchered by satire;
Where justice is just like a starless night;
Where compassion is always a lost fight;
Where deaths can kindle an endless debate;
Where love is defeated by war and hate;
Where colours of humans put seasons to shame;
Where despair is the prize for the agonizing game.

I watch, I cry, and I wish to be born
In the distant future; For one day there’ll be
A world that cares, a world that dreams;
And I will find the right sky for my kite.

Comments

Post a Comment

Popular posts from this blog

The Man Who Could Not Die

In the unnamed valley that reeked of death I met a man who couldn't die. A hundred decades he had seen, they said, And still death wasn't kind to him. I found him weeping as the sun set, Under a tree younger than him And when he heard me, he said, "Another man with a treasure." The pain in his voice hit me Harder than the lifeless wind And I asked, "What treasure Do you think I carry?" "Oh no, nothing that sparkles," he said Trying, and failing, to laugh, "But your ability to die." I sat by his side and said "People fear death On the other side of this valley, And eternal life is a fantasy." He held my hand and said, "Such a twisted dream perpetuity is; Can fool even the wisest of the wise. Things that are deathless Are the farthest from peace." I picked a dry leaf and asked, "Do you feel lonely? Every thing around you dies. You see death every day, Wishing somebody could see yours....

By The River

In the face of suffering she was longanimous. By the river she sat, embracing her agony And waited for the little boat to emerge, like The demure bee from within the beauteous petals. Her impregnable belief to see him, on the boat, Waving at her, made her roots go deep. She waited for the tides to run quiet and calm For just one day; and the skies to shine like her hope; Her young heart aged by the river, counting Ripples from every pebble she threw; but it was A river; ripples seemed to be in their usual rush. Summer changed to winter, winds turned cold; Leaves grew impatient and kissed the moist earth. She grew old waiting, but the boat was still a dream. The curtains were undulating, asking her to get up; And saying that maybe the land was too far; Or maybe the tides were too fast; The truth her eyes bled at the thought of was The boat was never destined for a homecoming; Neither was her wait destined to see an end;  Perhaps the boat...

The Pallbearer

I happen to know a common pallbearer Who mourns all deaths around him; His eyes have the wisdom you’d expect But the light in them is quite dim.  He carries corpses; he carries them everyday, And never does he ask for the name of the dead. ‘Cause someday it will be someone he knows And the name shall never escape his head. Said he once, ‘Today I carried a little girl’ ‘Seven she was, I heard them say… My daughter would be seven by now, yes, Had it not been such a bad day.’ He still believes the little girl heard His whisper, in her box so small; ‘Sleep well little girl, whoever you are, For this sleep eventually comes to us all.’ ‘Had you lived a little more, child, You would have known how the world looks. But don’t be sad, for it’s not as beautiful As they lie in your colourful books.’ The pallbearer sees an obscure face, The face of his daughter behind a veil, And a smile; The smile that pulls out tears; And the smile t...