A Song for Take-Off, One for Landing

Speaking of dreams, I returned to the place I used to teach, and loved teaching at. But, the faces had grown older and the younger ones were densely disquieting. Cycling on the cobwebbed corridors, my inner rage did not know where and how to control itself -- I was given the shabbiest classrooms and the end of day time-slots -- things I could not accept. Not too long ago? When would things be the way I wanted them to be? When would the novel be written, the one where the protagonist begins Chapter One in a white benarasi? Not too far away?

Speaking of dreams, I am coining new words and signing first editions of my book, and orating like a silk butterfly, fluttering, capturing everyone's attention. Visualize this, a world I created is the one you could give your life to live in. On the verge of feeling like God, my humble ego leans towards realistic submissions and futile competitions. Speaking of dreams, they are precious dewdrops one can never cup enough for more than a moment, yet, the content is eternal. 

There are so many things happening in a realm within. So many occurrences that do not belong to this world. Mirages? Could be. What colour is your sky? Mine is mine. Unacceptable.

But speaking of life -- this ennui -- it bothers, burdens and finally, listlessly, persists.
It whitewashes desires.