There is a certain severity and embedded inexorability about dreams, the ones which
are for all intents and purposes, by definition placid imaginings, but leave
you gutted shoddier than ancient spells and the hyperbole that come wrapped
about it. When you wake up and return to the globe wherefrom the dream had
tempted to become your saviour and your refuge from nocturnal disappointments,
you have already, by then, become an outcast for the transient moments that
immediately follow your return. Where reality rejects you, you reject reality,
you turn your face to dream and the dream stands long wrecked. Such absolute is
the wreck that not a trace of it can be noticed, only felt, and sensed deep,
intrinsically like a rudiment of human birth, true and sure. Like a glass
breaking in vacuum, the shattering complete and irrevocable, yet the effect
diluted by separation from air.
The
struggle between conscious and the imagination starts to break into the nerves
tightening the pieces that reflect in your eye. Pieces from a lost trance. What
is not possible turns impossible and what cannot become is unachievable. There
remains no more a prospect of turning the shreds of broken dream into a thread
of hope. Because of the challenge of the truth, the fierceness of the battle
between the hopes and their veracity, the unfeasibility of the dreams right to
become and the defeat of the very existence of its purport.
Because
after one dreams, the retribution of reality begins. It unleashes its wrath
more outstandingly with vintage vengeance. The punishment of dreams begins
after their end. They get back at the dreamer.
Such a loaded post !!!
ReplyDeleteThanks for reading Siddharth
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