Posts Tagged ‘dreamer’

image of a guy asking did you stop dreaming

Showing up at weird intervals of time, my deferred dreams flicker akin a broken light. Some dreamer does that to me. When I forget that I am a dreamer too, out of nowhere comes along something or someone with a dream to tell me – what lurks inside me is more than real as well. That it is possible, that every success story was in fact a dream first, a mere thought in the head of a thinker that just got acted upon.

I believe this holds true for every winner out there:

He lost too. Hope. Despair gnawed at his soul too. But in the end he never stopped believing in himself and the idea that tagged him all along. He won because he worked, toiled hard, diligently to get there, and that’s why he’s there.

Every stride I take in the right direction fills me up with rejoice. It is nothing, but hey, it is something! It makes me believe that it can be done, that the impossible journey can come to fruition with one step at a time. Even though I give less of me to it, it is filling up nevertheless. One day it shall brim up and be complete.

I have never truly stopped believing. I do succumb to inevitable indolence at times, or get distracted by things I shouldn’t lose my focus on. But I have come to believe that it is okay to lose time, as long as you are invariably coming back to to the spot where your hiatus lies.

Trust me, it’s worth fighting for. Your dream. The colossal image that you bide by every single day. Nobody has seen that image but you. Even though the world says it’s impossible to get where you intend to be, remember dreamers have always been intimidated. But despite all odds they make it because their belief beats mouths. Their vision beats norms.

Be a dreamer. Be a silent worker. Keep at it, and never stop!

 

crazy hopeless reader
Paper listens to me. Talks that never make to fruition, that don’t find an ear, they all lodge in there. So many things that keep hogging my little space of creation, they all end up there. Words that don’t find a good eye, voices that don’t reach a soul, only resound empty in the innate hollows, they all get inked. The meaningful. The meaningless. The general whimsy. The occasional flimsy. Everything goes there.

Sometimes I wonder if I would ever find a reader, or if I have already, will I ever have a glimpse into the world of my sentient admirer, the one who can distinguish each syllable spoken, every letter written distinctively and approve of it to be a magical blend of the extraordinaire. That lover who would hold the genius that lurks in it to a complacent caring heart, and speak volume just like I do with mind-boggling creations of others. Then I am hit by a sudden splash of vexation.

“What if I am not good enough? What if my words weave a mask over my own face to cloud the judgment I give? What if everything that I see is just a lie, and the world really doesn’t give a shit? What if in their menial dictum they have been right all the time? That their crossing me out the millions of times I rose was some sort of poetic justice intended? That what I see is just a feigned globe, and that what they gawk at is aloof from virtual? That I have been wrong all my life? That the beauty I considered beauty was as ugly as a negative vibe? That I shouldn’t have been a dreamer, rather a realist lost in the mundane like a crowd in its din.”

It bothers me sometimes, when I don’t see what others compel me to see. It hurts to know that I am all alone in a world full of people, that it is rare to find a frequency that would walk right by my side. Pretentious heads nauseate me. Lost faces don’t bother me at all. The deficiency of a real connection does. That thread that I have been trying to untangle for so long, I am yet to find its end.

I can’t be like others. I can’t be a shallow prick. If I love, I plunge into the ocean drowning. If I care, I forget myself. If I work, I am conscientious. If I notice, I focus painstakingly at every miniscule detail one is made with. If I live, I refuse to be a bystander rather a meticulous observer to fathom you in a way you have never been. That’s how I have always been. A crazy hopeless reader.

You can put me off as a profound thinker. But I am a poet. That’s how I roll.