On Paradoxical Lust to Dream

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When I was small, I wondered how people used to speak and put forth their views. They always dazzled me. Everyone was unique and equally worthwhile to understand. I listened to everyone. I still do. I remain curious, but the difference now is that sometimes, I like speaking myself. But, somewhere I think I still lack the tact of subtlety.  The art of being heard without having been said – loud and clearly.
I have played my innings. I have uttered my words into the deep black hole without seeing the target but realizing my dream. I wait for my words to rebound or make a splash in the sea of words and feelings, so that I know they reached their destination. The outcome, honestly speaking, is not in my control. Neither I have any foolish desires to have any control over it.  It’s the listener’s domain. I cannot and don’t want to travel with my words, to know where they reach, how they touch upon on the subtle and turbulent sea of emotions of my exclusive audience.
It’s an eternal wait– A wait for Samuel’s Goddot. While my expressions travel through infinite space, I confine myself glued to it, waiting for them to make an impact. But, why should I wait. Why not walk on? It’s complicated, as are the feeling which forced me to express them out. But, as usual, I would like to elaborate why it is so?


 
Seer by Marina Petro 




All men dream: but not equally. Those who dream by night in the dusty recesses of their minds wake up in the day to find it was vanity, but the dreamers of the day are dangerous men, for they may act their dreams with open eyes, to make it possible

                   –        T E Lawrence  Thomas 








All fictional and non-fictional characters, be they politicians, philosophers, teachers, coders, social activists or some thing else, have one thing in common—they have set of objective to gain for which they plan and enact some plans. In my case, I lack the strategy. I lack the objective. All that I have is a dream. A dream that is not gested by the healthy slumber of nights. But a dream that is planted, fertilized, nourished and nurtured by an insomniac and hallucinated mind.
I am not a conventional dreamer, I am not a sage. I am not a hermit, who dreams to sleep out the night. I dream to wake out the night. I dream because all I have is a dream. A dream that is mine —not a dream that belongs to heaven or godizens. I don’t live for another incarnation or life hereafter. I live here, I don’t dream to feed and sustain the infinite hollow and solitude of night’s darkness. I dream for the morning to rejoice. Yes, I am a day dreamer who dreams to broaden the spectrum of day light. I am a dreamer of the blue.
Yes, I feel blue, that intoxicates much more than the weed. I am a dreamer that always subdues the alcohol I consume. I am a dreamer who has lost into the unequal and illicit relationship with the blue. I am dreamer who lives by his dream while walking the day out into night. I am a dreamer who mercilessly keeps the dreamy nights awake into orange glory of the morning.
I am an activist, who is assigned with the never ending and never yielding tasks of expressing my dreams to those who dream when they sleep and who sleep when they dream. Isn’t that paradoxical or to say – a quixotic task!
The Coffee is Good!  What else. Just Dream on!
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P.S. Are you also a dreamer? Leave some of your dreams below in the comment box for another dreamer. 

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