The Architect of Dreams

John Saurabh

In the most ardent fragments of slumber,
on a night smiling in its darkest attire,
I saw her; slithered from paradise to walk on the dark
and in the shapeless void, there lay a forsaken harp.

at a feeble touch of her fingers, the harp cried out a melody
in a fluttering glance, a blinding light cashed into my sight
a sea of colors swept in with emerald trees and soothing breeze.
who was the lady that painted life on this dark void with a melody?

then, came a sublime town so full of merry lives
placid gardens and serene houses hiding happy faces
children with smiles and husbands with pretty wives;
a dreamland of dazzling orchids and divine roses.

of so big a paradise, there was so little I could carry in my eyes.
Now the lady changed her pace and everything vanished from its place.
and I saw the sky repainting itself into the wildest red.
A hell in war; the town reeking of wildfire with rancid flesh crawling in vile desire.

It wasn't a melody but a hymn of death painting the square of gallows
A town of merry souls faded into a tempest of dreadful shadows.
The lady playing the harp changed the pace yet again,
in a fainting chance, another surreal world kicked in.

A rhythm so profound, was there ever a more enchanting sound?
I saw a boy walking in that ineffable spectacle,
to meet his love through storm and wrinkles, to die along in all parables.
Beyond all the magnificence and the myriad of extravagant colors, there was love.

A tune so heavy as if it drank the essence of life.
The lady's fingers danced on the harp, snaring life and death in a trance .
Another song and it was wrecked to shards, for with time, what could stand a chance?
A lavish scenery was being smeared on the canvas of my imagination.

Saw a man so rich, dressed in grandeur to please his greed,
cast away everything else for taste of flattering wealth.
then the tune turned melancholic and the colors, grim.
the man was broke and poor, tattered clothes and stale food, breathing yet dead.

The lady with the harp still in her place
weaving hell and paradise, rowing the boat through love and greed.
the grain of imagination floating on a breeze of mystified spectacles.
sailing through the inevitable possibilities of life; greed and menace or love and solace.

Yet I failed to catch the essence lurking behind the changing rhythms.
Then, in a fleeting snap of thunder, the resonance of her tunes broke.
Her fingers bled as they wildly scurried through the strings.
The harp with the blood dripping strings cried serene and shady sounds.

If only eyes could construe words to speak what I saw,
all the worlds smashed into a whirlwind of visions.
Sky and seas glittering with a million colors fading in and out,
the worlds of dazzling orchids and dreadful hell fires,

the parables of a Man with seducing riches or despicable Misery.
and the boy in the ineffable world of everlasting love,
The worlds drifted like wind in my eyes for the lady played it rough and harsh.
Her song could breathe heat into the sky or drown the lands in snow.

She reigned earth and seas for she was the architect of my dreams
The transcending worlds I saw were merely her handicrafts.
The architect of dreams? She made the flowers bloom and put the sky on flames.
Who was she, who could wrap the memory of love in a dwindling glimpse?

standing amid the blizzard of surreal worlds,
I pondered if that music reflected my desire
and The architect of my wildest dreams…
could she be I? Or should she be I?

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