Dream

A wish, a supplication, a desire to see an elegant beauty of endurance, the only conceptual truth that the heart knows and brain keeps trying to carry out. The ability of synchronizing pictures into a flow of a perfect scene like notes of the music aligned on one sheet producing mesmerizing beats and sinking hearts in an ode of classical melodies. A series of phantasmagoria that develop in the darkness of the night like small parachutes of the dandelion forming a beautiful yet too delicate flower. This is a beauty of the dream rising from nowhere, when even the psyche holds no hint if it is playing along the mass lying in the strata of the comfort cozy place, contributing to the creation of a fantasy. The aspiration is just not for a dreamer to see and enjoy, simply for a persona it is an ability to set a foundation during dark and host it as a fortune to the world during the day.

With the Oceanic depth,

Flowing and then resting forever,

Within the cast of the gambler, “the red mass”,

They mimic the truth and the lies of the world.

Away from the lips,

Untouched by the foreign ink,

They die poisonously for one thought,

From where, none ever returned back.

Dead! As if the poet was never born,

The couplets stay, echoing within the core,

To whom the pensive mood was a friend,

And the virtual calmness, the reflection.

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P.S: This is student’s dream. Difficult to understand and harmless to be executed, but enough of strength needed to get it finished.

~A.N

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