The dreamland

He plucked the small yellow-red flowers
And kept them in his secret world, where
The flowers do not age or wrinkle; where
They do not lose their fragrance or die.
He stole some stars that twinkle
Even in the day. It is always sunny
In his world. He sometimes puts up
Rainbows and fluffy clouds that sprinkle colors.
He has painted his world in bright colors.
He has made garlands of sweet words
And decorated them on fancy trees; he has even
Conjured up angels and fairies to sing his songs.
He finds the noise of the real world jarring.
The colors here are too gloomy, he says.
He sees only dead leaves in gardens –
The stench of hate and greed disturbs him.
He does not know why people laugh at him
Or call him crazy; he knows not why
He should believe that the real world
Is more real than his dreamland.
He does not care if people are bothered
That he smiles for no reason at all.
His dreamland is the only thing he has now
It is a better place than what he ever had.

About Abhishek

I will let the blog speak for itself...or, at times, for me. View all posts by Abhishek

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