vacation posting 5 - dreams

Dreams. Reams of them. Dear dreams. Mere dreams. Smeared over. With colors I painted them with. Dreams made red. Bright red. Red like blood. Red like fire. What’s it called? Crimson, I think. Yes, crimson. Like the sky at sunset.

Dreams are funny things. But then life is funny too, isn’t it? But dreams are especially funny. Dream like a dreamer. Dream like there’s no tomorrow. Dream of tomorrows. But the yesterdays hurt. Hurt and pain. But what’s a dream got to do with pain? Or happiness either. A dream is a dream is a dream. An entity by itself. An existence of its own. Almost imperious. Almost haughty.

Dreams make me angry. But I don’t make dreams angry. Nor do I dream angry dreams.

Some dreams come true. Some don’t. Most don’t. Or is it ‘some’? Depends. On how many dreams are there. For me, it’s most. Does it hurt when dreams break? A question with an obvious answer. Sometimes I wish dreams could feel. Then they would be hurt too. And stop spawning.

Spawning. That’s the right word. One dream leads to another and then to yet another one. A never ending sequence. Dreams feed on themselves. No, not feeding. Coz a dream born doesn’t mean a dead dream.

Dream, dream dreams. Forget the me. Let go of the dams. Go mad. And sad. Dream dreams.