How dreams die

It always begins with a dream-
A small idea.
It then grows and grows
And feeds on the dreams
Of the lover.
Then comes the struggles
And the small victories
And the waiting
(There is always lots of waiting!)
It is then, that the lover leaves
In a huff
Because you are no longer you.
And when the victory comes, later,
Sullied and deformed,
The crowd that cheers
The person who splashes
The champagne on you,
The city, the country, the age –
Are all strangers.
Later, you sit alone,
And wonder
What could have been done different,
And how to say sorry, after so long,
And whether this was the small idea
That you had dreamt long ago.
And, always, there is this struggle,
Not to think the only question that is left –
Was it all worth the pain?

About Abhishek

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

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