Under the spell of Sufi strains, I soaked in; the melodious tales of both, new found love and long lost ones. In its intoxicating ecstasy I soon found myself transported to the underworld of dreams. Some beautiful, some, not as much.
Amidst an alien crowd of people I was gazing at an unfamiliar face. Swooned in it, my days seemed to fly past, etching indelible pictures on the Wall of memory. Time warped and to that face, I felt belonging, more than to the one I saw in my own mirror every single day. Her old metallic watch, the brown earring and the purple hair band; inanimate objects found place in the inside of me, in the most animated way. Her fingers were warm to touch, warmth that shunned the chill of lonesome existence. Rapture and elation filled my slumber the way it never had.
My dream found me new found love. It was beautiful.
The night moved on, slowly revealing its sly conspiracy. The now familiar face that I so cherished, waned in its oneness with me. The needle stopped and I saw the watch being consumed in rust and the earrings were brown no more. The warmth of her fingers was there, but only to a sense in reminiscence, not to feel the palpable touch. It was no longer mine. Someone else, now, owned the metallic watch, the brown earring and the purple hair band. But the pictures on the Wall still remained, they were never erased.
And now, my dream had found me lament. It was grief; grief that had stealthily settled in me.
With a heavy heart I turned the morning alarm off. I rubbed my sleepy eyes, perhaps only to find them moist.
Maybe, not everything in life is a dream.
Amidst an alien crowd of people I was gazing at an unfamiliar face. Swooned in it, my days seemed to fly past, etching indelible pictures on the Wall of memory. Time warped and to that face, I felt belonging, more than to the one I saw in my own mirror every single day. Her old metallic watch, the brown earring and the purple hair band; inanimate objects found place in the inside of me, in the most animated way. Her fingers were warm to touch, warmth that shunned the chill of lonesome existence. Rapture and elation filled my slumber the way it never had.
My dream found me new found love. It was beautiful.
The night moved on, slowly revealing its sly conspiracy. The now familiar face that I so cherished, waned in its oneness with me. The needle stopped and I saw the watch being consumed in rust and the earrings were brown no more. The warmth of her fingers was there, but only to a sense in reminiscence, not to feel the palpable touch. It was no longer mine. Someone else, now, owned the metallic watch, the brown earring and the purple hair band. But the pictures on the Wall still remained, they were never erased.And now, my dream had found me lament. It was grief; grief that had stealthily settled in me.
With a heavy heart I turned the morning alarm off. I rubbed my sleepy eyes, perhaps only to find them moist.
Maybe, not everything in life is a dream.
