Dead dreams come back to haunt

The dreams of the youth often
Come back to haunt, years later,
Sullen, deformed, bitter.
You cannot placate dead dreams
With fresh promises.
They are here only for revenge.
Revenge, for leaving them behind,
For abandoning them,
When they were innocent and trusting.
Revenge, for years of bitterness,
For the knowledge that time
Cannot be rolled back, or wrongs undone.
Revenge, for your not having tired hard enough.
For getting taken in, for having surrendered
Before the dreams of others.
Dead dreams sit at the dinner table
And refuse to eat. They accuse
With their silence, they remind with their absence.
Dead dreams have the stench
Of rotting flowers, of decaying leaves.
They are the plants you forgot to tend.
You ask the dreams, to placate them,
Whether time can be turned back. They ask, bitter,
‘Would you choose different this time, if it could?’
Do not give birth to dreams
If you cannot rear them, cuddle them,
And be led by them around the park.
Do not promise loyalty to dreams-
Be brutal, right at the start.
Tell them to find a more worthy heart.
But if you can, do listen to the dreams
While they, and you, are young.
They come back to haunt, if they die young.

About Abhishek

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

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