The Dream

It is recurring, impossible to refrain from,

It echoes and repeats until reality fades.

It’s mellow,

It’s serene,

It’s tuneful

So I live it.

It is like water,

It will flow.

It will flood, if not stymied.

The dream is tempting.

So alluring that it smoothly brushes away every sense of sanity

I keep dreaming, aware that the pleasure wouldn’t last forever

It is not a crime to devour an illusion however

When the reality is shrewd and strikes in a manner not so lucid

Why is it witless to retreat and be loose?

As the dream becomes persistent, I give in to my selfish self

I start living it like it is the only world I am aware of

I live in it again and again.

Despite of the constant fear, arising from the little practicality left

Despite of the qualms that state that the dream is not here to stay

Ignoring the fact that I am cutting myself apart from the real world

I close my eyes and immerse in the water again.

Is it senseless to seek happiness in a world where it is destined?

Or is it escaping the reality and achieving it from a domain that is fake?

Does it count when you are happy in a dream?

Why, of course… When that is the only bliss guaranteed.

I close my eyes for the one last time and dream like I have never dreamt before

I let myself go for the one last time

And sleep perchance to dream

For that particular moment it’s satisfying to believe that the dream is reality

While the reality is a dream





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