Originally Posted on Medium
A dream hung on like raindrops on power cables overhead
A whole gleamy world in itself, a fairytale world
Full of promises and enforced perfection, off a story book
Walking on the tightrope of time,
I emerged from the drop unscathed in the heart
Or did the drop disappear altogether?
I do not know. I do not remember.
May be I was a fool that summoned the untrue
Long after it was gone, refusing to believe
Stubborn to recreate, but the illusion
Evanesced in a second, waking up with a jolt
Feeling unreal of the self that was
though changed and cold by it
Filled with a steely resolve
Never to go back
My clothes are still wet
Wet from moist emotions that perturb no more!
Flicking them off me like they don’t matter!
But how can I be so unfeeling
Reading parchments from bygone times
In disbelief, cringing over the submission of spirit
The nauseating thoroughness of servitude
The disgusting willingness to subjugation
In the name of a promise in far,
how did the dream disappear?
How did I cure?
Willing for the wings to be cut, willing on my own,
Time has dried my clothes, my hair
And the sun shines upon me today, beaming
I have survived, traces evaporated
Oh how much I love the free air
Oh yes, I can waltz now, light without care!
Laughing amidst the wind against my face
The unruly hair flapping in tides of freedom
Like a flag of liberty floating in the skies!
Soaring, soaring unhinged like a kite, broken free!
But will I ever willfully like to be chained?
Will I ever be happy playing just the sidekick?
Taking on a name, dancing to the tunes
Tamed, in shackles and hunted
But smiling all the way to hide the shrunken essence within
If footsteps can fade, if thoughts can change, if worlds can dissolve in a moment
Small and weak on my own, perhaps
What if the soul is frail after all?
What if it is a hot air balloon that’d pop amidst an unremarkable storm?
What if I get bored of freedom!
Find myself shrunk down to insecurities
Like huge holes in a puffed up armour
What if the spirit within is frail, and old and tired and scared after all?
What if the familiar rocks of today shred away
Tired of waiting or perhaps time has accumulated a wall
Brick by brick, perhaps.
Is it worth to bow the head?
Or are we complete on our own?
If I tread from shore to shore
Am I meant to walk alone after all?