The Only World That We Have

I do not like the world I live in. But who does? Everyone sings their escape plan as a lullaby when they have trouble sleeping. That ultimate dream of finally getting out of this hellhole everybody finds themselves stuck in. So do I.

I dream of a Lamborghini. Yeah, the ferocious sound of it is the most soothing thing to my ears. Or the sound of a Triumph cruiser does just fine. I have been dreaming of it since as long as I can remember. I have some buried dreams too, but I keep dusting them time and again. I am just afraid of the time when I forget how many dreams have suffocated in the pile of dust. Or if the well dusted dreams are the only trophies of my life.

But what is the prominence of dreams in this mundane world we live in. We are tormented by routine, but we wear it as a crest on our heads. We are caged by mediocrities that we grow up seeing and believing in. The escape plans get narrower and fade away by the time, just like the hairs on a man. And you accept mediocrity, and start wearing it as a crest. shielding it from any infectious dream that might touch it and disprove its existence. Have you ever tried to show a man the beautiful when he has accepted the ugly?

I dream of wide roads. I dream of music festivals. I dream of her.
And I have never let anything corrupt my secret dreams, at least till now. I have not let mediocrity destroy the blank pages that are going to be written with my dreams. But a dream being hatched too long turns into a mild fantasy, with no fuel to turn into reality.

Today, on the pious occasion of nothing special, I vow to get going.

The First Thought

Where do we all live?

Who are we?

To what do we belong?

We are the tangled emotions and unfinished thoughts. We are wanderers of this great mystery of mind. We are the creators of the universe in which we are stuck. We are nothing but one soul in a billion bodies. We are the creators of God, the writers of mythologies, the course correctors.

We are always unaware. Our mind is never where we are. Its either dwelling in past or flying into future. Somebody from us creates the music that none want to hear. We are lights in a starry sky. We are waves in a vast ocean. We are all part of a game. Or rather the game is now a part of us. We are meats with the misfortune of slow decay. We are a lot many things.

We are free, but are in chains because we are afraid of what fruits the freedom may bear. We are the killers of our own fortune, the biggest obstacle between us and victory. We are perishable but we live as if we are eternal. Or, we are eternal but we live like we are perishable. We are a big confusion. We are the creators' bad dream. We are the by products, maybe.

But we did fine, you and I?