I painted a dream, flawless and rich
Including in it, all hues of bliss
The days and nights; forever resplendent
And nothing or none could act amiss.
Rancorous yet true, a mere reverie it was
Nowhere close to my real being.
The times I was made to confront reality, I shuddered,
Dolefully realizing I wasn’t allowed to dream.
I was a captive in a majestic prison, my home.
My wings ripped, my freedom long seized.
Day after day, I acquiesced in vacuous rules.
The lambent hope of feeling alive had also deceased.
Beyond my bounds breathed another world.
A place of the holy, the happy, the wise,
A haven which nurtured enigmatic splendor.
And for me it resembled just paradise.
I often peeped out of my window,
Sometimes to laud one amongst a blossoming flower.
Every sight seemed so alluring, so enthralling
Oh! How I craved to spend my time in that sweet bower.
But I was chained; nobody would set me free.
My people knew of this world I doted on.
They admonished “This beauty is a conjuring trick”.
I wouldn’t believe, they just didn’t want me gone.
A hallowed day arrived and I got my chance to flee.
I broke open every manacle that hitched me.
My paradise called, I ran but sunk on its edge.
Ahead what lay, wasn’t what I had imagined it to be.
Virulent were the flowers that once delighted me.
Their contact killed even the mightiest of creation.
The colossal tress refused to give their shade.
Even the air had an aroma of desolation.
The men were learned, but selfish and vile.
They cheated and hurt, never fearing their fate.
I grieved, I was chagrined.
Alas! Time unveiled the truth too late.
But what good could the truth do then?
When everything was already said and done.
My people wouldn’t forgive me for my insolence.
There left no place where I could return!
My painting had flaws, I admit it now.
I lamented in silence, I couldn’t scream,
“If only this too were a dream…
And if only this too were a dream…”