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
