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Tag: dreams
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I think sometimes you are borrowed,
and it’s a strange transaction
because when we borrow something
we are supposed to give it back
but when I borrowed you,
I was supposed to make you mine permanently.
I am sorry, I tried, but I couldn’t do it.
So I returned you,
and paid the interest for returning you.Dear dreams,
I think sometimes you can be stolen,
I didn’t know that could even be done,
I didn’t even know I had you,
But now you are theirs
and I wonder how once you were mine,
and how I never realized
but maybe I see you
only when I see you with someone else.Dear dreams,
I think sometimes you can be faithless,
I loved you, and gave you my all,
I was possessed, I was obsessed,
You were a miracle, you were magical,
I thought we would last a lifetime
until one day you left for good.
You never gave a reason,
for such a brutal decision,
but what could I do?
I still wait for you.Dear dreams,
I think you can be too dreamy.
Sometimes I think I’d overdose
on the amount of hope you give me
consuming my days and nights,
over things that will never come true,
but you’d still find that little silver lining,
tease and dance with reality,
all my waking life
and yet still be a fantasy.Dear dreams,
I think you are beloved,
at last, at least,
I don’t know what I did to deserve you,
I can’t even recall how or when we met,
but I am glad it’s us.
Sometimes I am scared about how I will make it work,
sometimes I am sure that either one of us would be a jerk,
but it is what it is now – you and me,
maybe not eternal,
but together we can create something that perhaps lasts eternity.
Together we can at least try.Dear dreams,
I think you are deceptive,
Where does all the pixie dust go when you become real?
How come you become so normal and ordinary
when you stop being a dream and start being my life?
When your flaws overshadows your beauty?
When my complaints overshadows my gratitude?
When you are my present, you don’t seem like a present,
and the old you evolves into something new,
and the old chase continues.Dear dreams,
You are strange but here’s the thing;
I still see you.
I see you when I am asleep,
I see you when I am awake,
I see you when I don’t see you,
I see you when I can’t,
I see you when I want,
I see you when I am not supposed to see you,
I see you all the fucking time.Yours,
A Dreamer*
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Oh great,
There’s another day to greet
Job well done the Sun & the Earth!
Congratulations on this yet another birth!
How do you do this over and over
billion years & beyond?
Don’t you get bored?
like I do, in a week,
(Or in a minute these days)
Waking up; Eating, attending that meeting
Faking it; Progress, and that breathing
Making it up; My existential meaning.Do you make things up too Sun?
Apart from Helium?
And everything that comes with it?
Do you do something new too?
In the context of doing the same old things?
And does it bring any joy?
Or do you wake up grumpy one day
and write a poem too?Do you ever feel tired?
Like you just can’t take it
And if you take it, you’ll break it
And if you break it-
I don’t know,
Do you ever feel disappointed?
Do you ever feel depressed?Okay stars forbid,
let me be a little less morbid;
Do you ever feel delighted?
Do you ever feel that you are in love?
So much in love
that you need to calm yourself
remembering that it’s temporary
this infatuation, this obsession,
this fear, this aspiration,
secretly hoping that it lasts a lifetime
but even with your eternal existence
that eternity comes to an end.
You come to an end.When you do, I would be dead by then.
But would you remember me though?
Do you remember things?
Do you ever tell our stories among your fellow starmates?
I am sure you don’t speak any of our stupid inefficient languages,
but do you speak in vibrations?
Do you speak in music?
Are you a musician?
Do you play those strings or waves or particles?
Can I hear it?
Can I already hear it?Does any of it matter though?
Or all of it is an anti matter?
A stupidity to joke like that –
What a cute little thing to do,
Why am I wondering about you?
Let me return to my trivial issues;
Look for a home, pay those bills,
Eat, cook, work, forget to exercise,
Say kill me now all the time
But be shit scared of death and disease
Take people who love you for granted
Run behind those who treat you like shit,
You know small little avoidable human problems like that,
not a mammoth helium manufacturing machine here-
just a modest suffering production laboratory.Do you ever feel pity?
At the stupid things we do?
Do you ever feel enraged?
How we destroy a part of your creation with our creations?
Do you ever laugh at our hypocrisy?
Do you ever cry?
Do you ever feel anything?
Or do you feel these things through me?
Your stardust in my veins,
My thoughts bursting in your solar storms,
I know I ought not feel so grand,
I am still tiny, and miserable,
and so grumpy, and so mad,
and so impatient to change things,
But still, I wonder
do you ever?*
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My room;
A room full of possibilities,
It faces a giant window with purple curtains
where the sun sets in the shrinking sky,
among the concrete with a dusty sigh,
where pigeons shit low and soar high
and the vehicles screech nearby……beyond a collage wall with yellowed art pieces
waiting to be repaired,
offering support to a bed waiting to be cleared;
Filled with bags, different kinds – big and small,
And some clothes and some books and some more stuff
Waiting to be placed in their designated space
inside an overflowing cupboard.On the other side lies the table
in more or less the same state;
A cup waiting for its taxi to the sink
A sanitizer born in 2020 waiting to be used
A speaker, I am waiting for to get charged
A match box waiting for a hiding place……and a sketch waits to be completed
and after her, a few others as well.
And after that a poem awaits creation too,
under them an old CPU fights scrapyard,
while dreaming of a museum,
while my new CPU- my office laptop
dreads being used yet again.Somewhere in this clutter
lies a few old manuscripts,
waiting to be used, some what abused,
while dreaming of being a part of beautiful book
and a giant teddy lies on the bed
gathering dust and battling an existential crisis.
Like those unfinished drafts.
Like me.My room could be an office,
Could be a secret lab,
Could be a studio,
Could even be a gym,
But it’s none of that –
It is a waiting room;A room waiting to be cleaned,
A heart waiting to be fixed,
A dream waiting to be realized,
A love waiting to be loved,
A life waiting to be lived,
A beginning waiting for an end,
And I am waiting
(might as well be a professional waiter now)
waiting for those possibilities
to be possible someday.But it seems not today.
Or maybe it does,
maybe there’s a little bit,
coming to existence,
Just a little bit
day by day.*
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Karma; what goes around comes around.
as if telling you
that maybe, slightly, I don’t know, I feel
eager or a bit obsessed, is going to change my
Kismet or yours; because I think I am fated to be
unlucky when it comes to this
meaning all my tiny little
expectations with love, what seems like love, don’t
necessarily or even remotely meet yours.(But what if, they did?)
**
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PC: depositphotos.com I don’t know why
but being different is important to me.
Does it give me happiness?
Not always.
Does it give me clarity?
Not always.
Does it give me money?
Never.But still, I have to be this way.
I guess it gives me a bit of meaning.
But if I brood too much,
that meaning is lost.
I guess it gives me a soul,
But if I commercialise it that soul is lost.
I guess it gives me a bit of passion,
my raison d^etre,
But there could be so many better reasons to live,
There could be so many reasons not to live,
And my pen can’t take the weight to counter them all.Maybe it gives me some goals,
But I never complete them till the end –
An end that can be recognized
An end that concludes a dream.
But what exactly is this dream?
To create, and abandon?
To wander, lost and confused?
To fix, and break something else in the process?
To explore, this endless world?
only to know
that you don’t know shit?Sometimes I wish I was like everyone else
or whatever I think everyone else is like
But I know I can’t be that
being normal is boring,
and being different is exciting,
being different is freedom!
But freedom at what cost?
The corpses of expectations,
The greener grass of the path not taken,
The tormentors from the land of uncertainty,
And the goddess of procrastination,
asking for hours and hours
of daily worship.But when I create anything
everything melts away
My creation
compensates for the lack of a company,
it compensates for the apparent lack of purpose
and even though it’s not a magnum opus
I love it.
It doesn’t make me exactly that different
but it gives me the illusion that I am
and nothing else seems to matter
until the last brush stroke,
until that last one word.It doesn’t make sense.
But being this way
somehow feels the right way to be.
I don’t know why.*
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No matter what you do,
they are never going to be happy with what you do.
Out on a journey to perpetually disappoint them
You cross one milestone that they set
and they would expect you to cross one more
that they would set again
because you can be better
than what you are
always.No matter what you do
No matter how different you are
No matter how much that means to you
No matter how much you value
if it isn’t something that they value
then your life
your talent
your so-called potential
is a waste.
In your head, you have learnt so much
In your head, you have grown so much
In your head, you think
you are happy.
In their head, they think
you are just selfish
and so damn ungrateful.Yeah sure there’s still some struggle
there’s still some hustle
Sure there is indeed some more learning and unlearning to do
but you are happy to tussle
in between whatever little you have
whatever little that will grow
because you nourish it
you cherish it
you love it
that you have the space to be you
to create your own destinations
to choose your own dreams
and when you grow older
you’d know
that you have nothing to regret because you listened to your heart.
“But your heart is too young”
They’d say
“Your brain is blind”
They’d say
Who are you to argue?
With people who came decades before you?
With the people who created you?
Sure they’d know more about your life
than you do yourself
Either “You don’t know your own potential.”
(Someone ban the word potential please)
Or “You don’t know the world”
Or both.How bloody irresponsible!
According to them, you have not done enough
Always throwing away opportunities
to tread through roads
that no one takes –
You call that an adventure,
They call it stupidity.
No one takes those roads
because they lead to nowhere, duh!
They have had enough.
No more.
You can do so much better.
Here try some hardcore and ridiculously competitive
tried & tested options
to prove your worth
(because they dreamt of themselves once and couldn’t live it)
and finally, be respectable.
Sure they want to bring out the best in us
and a bit of pressure
turns carbon into diamonds.
A bit too much pressure
makes things explode too.
But fine, a risk worth taking, right?
Why did we grow up to have our own voice?
When we really didn’t have any choice?
Why do we create humans but not robots as our progenies?
How can they be so sure that the decisions we take for our own
lives would be a regret
just because they don’t match with theirs?We would have aligned with you if we could
Life would have been so much simpler that way
But this same two decades of generation gap
has given us a pair of eyes
that sees the world in a different way
that inspires us to live in a different way.
Is it too much to ask to navigate through our own lives
Find our own way, right or wrong
Find our own peace, short-lived or long,
Is it too much for them to see that
We are happy, really we are okay?
With all our glaring ordinariness
we can still be a bit extraordinary in between.
But if you argue, you are left to guilt trip
For not abiding by the principle of great obedience.
God we hope we could inherit your dreams and beliefs
instead of your genes
But sadly, we ended up growing our own
And if we get to live everything
Everything that we dreamt and envisioned
We would still fall short of their expectations
Because we couldn’t/wouldn’t crack that exam that they wanted us to crack,
Do what they wanted us to do.
Now we are forever worthless no matter what we try
No matter what the rest of the world says
No matter what we say
Our lives are forever ruined
Because it didn’t turn out to be how they wanted it to be.And we’d feel terrible
because we are terrible.
Tell me, how is that fair?***
The Turquoise Ink 