and then, yet again
I saw myself in the wind
above the clouds
where things are still
serene and unheard.
in my misty eyes
I walked into it and
rain came with me
showing me desires
of a million faces
seeing up, waiting,
just to get washed away
in their dreams of fire
and their nothingness
between created thoughts
just like me, waiting,
in a corner of infinity
to touch the drizzle.
And I turned to the rain
saw it black and white
unhearing me, and others,
on its own, being innate
and playing its way…
I shouted again
and asked…
and, I woke up to life
from my dreams…
Srik
4 comments:
Good imagination !
An evocative poem that encapsulates the uncertainty of life.
Dream researchers inform us that we are creators of our own dreams. If so, why don't we know the endings? It has always been a mystery to me
My guess is that dream researchers do not know what they are talking about.
Now a days you are most of the time above the clouds on some mountain top... no wonder you get these dreams...
Nice one :)
Very nicely described...
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