What kind of dreams come true?

oblivious of what we people want

we weave dreams, illusive ones

which we never intend to support

 

we cry for inevitable

one anyway dies, one anyway lives, sooner or later

talons of fate for sure know how to collar

an iota of odds in favor, then eluding dreamer’s eye

in fact, the stage is set with a backdrop of failed trials

 

days and nights abound, we circle around

inquiring about the bull’s eye and what’s such in rage,

by then the passion of bowstring fades; the fancies

found in shoreline art weeping with receding waves,

lines in the palm portraying a different shape

 

we cry, we curse, we criticize,

and we lie to ourselves (Yes, to ourselves!)

forging a false belief, altering a dream within a dream

and, accept the unprecedented as our destiny

as if we humans are obedient kids, know not to rebel

 

I wonder how we surrender

to the upkeep, to the promises, to the luxury, to the assured bright

of future we hold our hope in

unless the promised timeline coincides,

future is what if not tomorrow’s ‘today’s time’?

 

I ponder what kind of dreams come true

or is it the dreamer who has more potential than you?

why do you agree to leave things behind, the things that are dear to you?

and hold on to things you never wish to?

 

the dreamer within is in deep sleep

with saddened beat and smothered heat

lips are bitten with a blemishing smile of a victim

scared and slaved to breathe, we lie there in hope-

to get hunt by fate in any shape, in any form

for the rebel inside us is no more

 

when standing in a desert with deserted hope

wondering what rivers to quest

having no thirst to quench anymore…..?

 

© Written Frames,2018