Some days are just not made for waking up.
Open your eyes and the whole of life seems a lesson in disappointment. There is no sepia-tinted crumbling fort to spend a heady afternoon in. There are no forbidden rooftops where you can take in the whole countryside at a glimpse and weave enchanted dreams in a shady corner of. There are no passionate encounters where the hero is neither black nor white but a delicious grey, tempting you to succumb and yet himself resisting your desires. There is no mesmerising moment in a dangerous alley when your cherished ideals are dramatically deconstructed. There is no friend whom you can adore and give up your life for at a moment's notice, with the sweet certainty of its being a cause worthy of such a sacrifice.
Instead, there are umpteen shopping malls where you can go and squander all your hard-earned money on silly trinkets and superfluous garments. There is a flat which is located in a dusty neighbourhood still under construction, with rickshaws, handcarts and lorries competing to blow dust into your weak respiratory system. There is a husband who loves you, but is unable to empathise with the tragic poet in you. There are friends but none who merit such utter devotion.
In short, there is no drama in your moribund stream-of-consciousness. The last time you thought you had somewhat approached it, you were languishing in a 12 hour long flight, watching Jodhaa-Akbar and your psychedelic euphoria was exhaustion-induced and alas, too short-lived. You woke up to realise that you were a bored and unwilling participant in the rat race that is the professional arena. Where socialising mainly involved bitching about one friend or neighbour to another, success was measured in terms of your take-home pay, your financial stability was reflected in the size of your car and the tip you paid at each restaurant you ate out in, your personal worth depended on your eloquence in self-appraisal and the depth of the romantic in you was revealed in the expense of your honeymoon destination.
What shall we do then ? Where shall we find a more glorious retreat ?
Sleep on, I say. And dare to dream. Or maybe pen another post or poem. The virtual world is still virtual enough to tantalise !
Dare to Dream
Dare to dream of far off lands,
Dream of deserts, covered in sand.
Dream of rainforests, trees high above
Dream of finding your one true love.
Dare to dream of lies or the truth,
Dream of never losing your youth.
Dream of battles, dream of a spark.
Dream of light, a light in the dark.
Dare to dream of fighting and sadness,
Dream of men, succumbed to madness.
Dream of warmth and heat and flame,
Dream that your life is just a game.
Dare to dream of hate and mistrust,
Dream of all that’s true and just.
Dream of drowning, drowning in the sea,
Dare to dream of dreaming, yes dare to dream with me.
Lexi Smith
5 comments:
What shall we do then ? Where shall we find a more glorious retreat ? .........chuck everything and go into the wilderness? But we dare not due that as we want to cling to what we have accumulated. Right ?
Very true... though the world might say that those who dream are sleeping through reality.
@ Haddock : The wilderness would be too extreme, don't you think ? ;-)
Don't take the post too seriously, it's meant to be a mood piece, more cathartic than cynical !
But yes, there's no denying that we are perhaps growing more dangerously materialistic than we'd like to own upto. It's a sign of changing times,I suppose.
@ Amit : Languishing in escapist wistfulness, aren't we ? ;-)
uff gargi di,you right just too well!
each time i read your posts,i go "hey that's what i think too"...you seem to look into my mind,read what i cant even say and pen it all down with utmost ease.
truth is never spotted..... will look out for ur scribbles
review my beginning....
http://blot-my-blues.blogspot.com/
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