Endless journey of Dreams !!!

Afloat in grey mist, a canoe glides through still water. There is no end to the mist and the boatman is in no hurry to reach anywhere. What does one do when one is on a journey of one's dreams, except dream. Dreams do not particularly fare well all the time, amidst the silent shadows of reality. But dream on we must.

In me, I've found the most compulsive dreamer I've ever met. I dream by choice and by habit. It's my escape and my inspiration. It's the amalgamation of all my what could have been's and what can be's. It also the sole keeper of all my fears, my hopes, fantasies and frustrations. In it I see myself, as myself, alone and devoid of the artifice of the world around me. I see myself, because of what I am, not because of what the world has decided I should be.

Do I dream in words, sounds, images? I do not know. Do I only dream when I am asleep? Most certainly not. Do I dream only happy things? No. Sometimes, I dream the worst that can be, by choice. Just to make myself cry. When I am precariously balanced at the threshold of pain, then the ability to make myself cry is a big advantage.

People are not always mindful of other people. People are almost never mindful of me. Especially when I do not want them to be. I can fade away into the background without a whimper as if I am just another random pitch in the white noise of space. In such times, ignored by what is concrete, I dream about the abstract. I gaze at the space in front of me and reflect myself in the shards of my imagination.