I see a dream every night,
A silhouette standing besides the wooden pile.
I went closer to grab a view,
And saw a face moistened in dew.
The face felt familiar,
I could read those deep dark eyes consumed in somber.
I felt like going closer,
A magnet pulling stronger,
Like the waves searing to meet the offshore.
As the distance was narrowed,
I was taken aback in a quondam.
In a flash, where the face seemed embraceable.
As I tried stepping further,
Someone held me and I turned dorsal.
Another face, holding me, familiar, magnetizing, embraceable,
In a state of muddle, which hand to hold,
My dream got out of the situation.
The dream occupied my mind throughout the day,
The face yearning to be loved,
The eyes longing to be read,
The silhouette craving to be held.
Having no direction, I felt helpless.
The silhouette in my dreams has no real existence,
It has been tarnished, it has been changed,
And those eyes no longer seem affectionate.
The reality of a being, shackled the meaning of my dream.
A home once left because it turned into a heap of sorrows, do not feel like home again. The doors yet screams to be opened and the thought of visiting it emerges in your mind but the new doors do not permit an exit. Perhaps it now seems a better home. But somewhere inside, there’s a piece, which feels contrary.