BY MONICA BOSE
Dreams we keep in sealed boxes
are both alive and dead, until
we peek inside.
The dream comes calling
as the dusk falls,
Timeless stars shine,
on old and new dreams alike.
What beautiful a sight of a caterpillar,
changing into a butterfly.
They asked her to follow the herd,
but she always aspired to carve
her own niche.
They tried so hard to cage her flight,
imprison her goal,
Perhaps, she broke free like a phoenix.
She learned and unlearned,
obeyed and defied.
Nomadic thoughts take a flight,
to a destination far and wide.
Come back to sanity! said they.
But she's sane in her own insanity!
which shows her the way.
she wears her dreams like a jewel
on her neck.
She belongs neither here nor there,
Not to a place but to her dreams.
Like a wild horse free and untamed.
She believed she could live her dreams,
and so she did.