The Dream

It’s high time, I told myself. High time to close my eyes shut. The dream was kind of making me hope. The feeble thing could die any moment and yet there it was breathing in my mind. I wanted to blow it off before it decided to die. But like a candle in the wind, there in the darkness of my mind it was spreading light.

Why are dreams so stubborn? Or, is it us who are stubborn? I don’t want to dream any dream. I want to live everyday as is given to me by God. But here I am dreaming yet again. It shatters most of the times. Then it takes days to collect those broken pieces and fling them away.

But it’s like that with most beautiful things in this world. The butterfly looks prettier than any angel; but its wings are weak and it dies soon. The flower sheds its petals quickly, and then it hurts to see it that way. The rainbow stays in the sky for only a while.

Yet, they all reappear.