Perhaps, perhaps in winter's sweet dream I'd dare to chafe those embers at hearth- To gather and sprinkle a fistful of mirth In ashes, in ashes of fire's red dew, In ashes all strewn with flaming red hue, In ashes- in ashes.....like sundrops on yew! Sometimes I think our dreams are nothing but beauteous greed. You'd dream to ace your schooling, and you'd dream to make big money, get famous etc. etc. Or you'd dream to sing or dance or write or fight your way to the exosphere, get famous, etc, etc. Or you'd dream to change the world, start a revolution, get famous, etc, etc. Or you'd dream to get famous, get famous, get famous, etc, etc. It just might become an obsession. Your dream. Whatever it is. Let's think of something Coelho wrote in The Alchemist, something like having a dream you'd love to live but you're scared that it'd be fulfilled, 'cause you can't imagine life without it (etc, etc.)? It just might become a fear. Your dream. Whatever it is. I think whatever you wish to achieve in life should become your passion, your prayer. Dreams for me are wishes I might or mightn't see fulfilled. Like living five winters of hail and frost and mist I've missed. Like playing with embers and chafing my wrists like I did so long ago (etc, etc). I think it's just a dreamier wish. My dream. Whatever it is.
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AuthorAlina N. Kidwai Archives
October 2015
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