" If you can dream - and not make dreams your master;
If you can think - and not make thoughts your aim;
If you can meet with triumph and disaster
And treat those two imposters just the same; "
A dream is one big candle.
A candle whose flame is kept alive by the warmth of the sun, by a burning desire in the heart, by the smouldering fire in the belly, by a blazing passion to perform and leave a scorching trail behind...
A trail that could scorch the blades of grass and leave footprints behind for the posterity to follow...
But a torrential rain can extinguish even the fiercest of fires...
What happens to the dream then ?
Does it ever realize ?
Or does it die a premature death ?
Deep within I know that the fate of the dream is beyond me. I'd rather try and keep the candle burning and hope that it holds its forte against the rain and makes life a kaleidoscopic odyssey. For only the sun and rain in unison can make a band of colors appear stretching over the wild blue yonder...
A band of colors that is an outcome of the dream and the theme for my poem...
A thin band stretched across the immeasurable,
As the child looked on with an unknown mirth
Gazing at the wonder from his rocking cradle
Unaware of what that stripe was worth.
All the riches of the world that man desired
Would pale in the contrast of its illuminance,
All issues of the world that man measured
Would fade in the bearing of its significance.
Each colour that stood out in the infinity
Had its own poignant tale to narrate,
On the facts of life and its vitality
That no gold or silver could ever satiate.
And the transfixed eyes continued staring
Unmindful of the truth that the vision could imply
That life was worth celebrating,
Was the harbinger of the rainbow in the unbounded sky.
