We live within our dreams,
our redeeming facts of life,
outside, in a state of chaotic indifference;
realities have emerged
victorious, putting fantasy into action.

The straying of our dreams,
the straying of our realities,
disdainfully immeasurable,
severity of either seems appallingly short,
fulfilling and slippery.

Dreams pattering out of……………?
smile jejunely,
being our worst enemies,
they leave us when we need realties the most.

The realities enthrall us,
The dreams disenthrall us,
The dreams logic with realities,
The realities never.

Dreams go to the bottom of
inverted irrationalities;
our grandeur glares at
our blighted enormity
skillfully constructing
around us the heights of utopia,
we have lived thus far,
pathetically.

The garb the realities fear,
The dreams never wear.
The realities have their lot,
The dreams not.

We are living people, for,
we are obscured lot, quarrelling with our
obscurity,
we are wondrous lot, rejoicing our
malignancy,
we are discordant lot,
wandering here and there,
looking through our morbidity into
what come in our dreams,
we are disillusioned lot,
seeking illusions
into legion meanings of dreams,
measuring the distance from realities.

Oneness is not ownness.
Ownness is not oneness.
What wanes faster, unknown.
Barren innocence,
taken for a ride.

Dreams don’t hold our hands,
our hands are free and unrestrained,
realities do hold our hands,
we fear our hands.

Dreams and realities prowl,
ruminate, reinforcing
sadness of life and awaking us
to realities, we live by.

Far and deep down,
realities flow forwards,
dreams flow backwards,
clumps of haze welcome both,
on their bidding adieu to each other.