They say to me in their awakening, “You and the world you live in are but a grain of sand upon the infinite shore of an infinite sea.” And in my dream I say to them: “I am the infinite sea, and all words are but grains of sand upon my shore.”
Khalil Gibran – one of the greatest philosopher-poets of the 20th century
I am a complete romantic. Mercurial. Caring. Protective. Buddy. There is an ancient cadence deep down me that prods me to feel a special bond with my loved ones. Basically a very small charmed circle, it contains my small family and friends. When it comes to life’s tough trials, I wish to protect myself not by some fence, but rather by my friends. Always a kid at heart, I still dream about Jack and his beanstalk. I do not want to shatter some sweet myths. We may evolve and grow up; we may go places but our memories must always remain ensconced in cartoons and lots of cornflakes. That’s how I feel. In life’s superfluous baggage, I keep a corner for some innocent dreams. Yet I know life is never easy for those who dream.
I have a recurring dream and I often see the love of my listless life in those tiny dreams. From a distance, I can see drop-dead beautiful eyes. They tease me on solitary nights. I wake up suddenly from my slumber and find them gaze intently at me. However hard, I try to sleep, I cannot. The images have haunted me since childhood. However, I could see them clearly, only about a year back. In blood and flesh. Smiling. Innocent. Truthful. Daring. Elegant. It appears for real. It is not an apparition, I can vouch.
Ironically my delicate dream does not come to me on clear, sunny days especially when I am alone and I so need it. It even skips me on romantic evenings. It makes me tarry and tarry. Yet it walks upto me in the middle of the night. Unexpectedly. On a starlit night, when there is sound of water gushing in transparent brooks and fish plop. It swaddles me in its entirety. It drinks my scents. And leaves me completely perfumed. I don’t want to let it go, I swear. Not at my life.
Like the tender shard of a broken dream, I sizzle. When I am alone and have no one around, I wish the dream appears to me. With friends and family taken-in with the day-to-day rigmarole of life, whom do I turn to in my most private, passionate moments? Amidst all the lovelessness and the sparkle around our fast-paced, artificial lives, I look for my friend – the sacred dream.
It is a picayune present I’ve given myself. It is distant, yet so close to me. It caresses me, as I shut my eyes. It is a dream – true -- yet it is mine.