A world of my dreams

Once a friend of mine politely asked "If I remember the poems I write." Deep down I was aware of my reluctance to recitation but it in all honesty it didn't have an iota of effect on the answer. She wasn't amused by my answer and rather grew sceptic of it. "Of course! I do not." Her scepticism was delightful. I mean how could it be so hard to construe. I am not certain of the reasons either. I am not in my ordinary. You want me to be pragmatic, there you have it. Anything I might add to defend myself may sound cocky. It is not a state of delinquency. I can see how eager everyone is to put a label on one another. Tag me as an arrogant bastard. Apologies if that's too crass, but ask yourself if it undermines the sense of perception in the mind of the listener. No it does not. The problem is you stay at yourself when you see things. You never really understood the immensity of humility. I don't blame you for your problems. Your character were ineptly built by the ideas of a quote page on Instagram but not by your resilience. I am sorry if I am too real for you. I can't remember the poems I write. I write to express, not impress. I will have to write a follow up post for the miraculous realm of art for it because I can't be too harsh with my words here. I know right.

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Ideally we have all dreamt of a world that we believe would be the best place ever for us to live in. Our serene thoughts of creating that world on earth has eroded with time. There's a price to pay for the knowledge you seek. It is hard to go back. It needs courage to be creative. To flow against the stream of people who are hinging on the belief systems, social structures and the modes of acceptance that are meant to secure them, hold them together. They are imprisoning themselves with their concealed identities. It can all be extinguished by the flickering light of true being. This is one my endeavours to reach the surface and flow in an ecstatic motion of my being. This is a world of my dreams.

Away from the treachery, exploitation, crime, shallowness, greed, bestiality, rage, lies, hate. We wipe down the worlds that have cast shadows of hurts and despair, to a paint a world of our own that sets us free from the enchantments of the sweet sorrow being. Hence we dream. A world of my dreams.
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Art by- Agnes Cecile

Lost in the aesthetics of creating a beautiful world
A world where the simplicity beholds the glimpse of infinity
I have lost my sense of belongingness
A place where the insecurities do not exist.
Pale skin, unkempt hair, scruffy beard are not reasoned to acceptance.

Your intellect is of least concern to me.
This is a world where the poor kids are unsure of their next meal.
Your intellect has done no good.
I can either be torn up by the boundless canvas or muster courage to pick up a brush
to paint my own.

Your enmity is of least concern to me.
I have fallen in love with the idea of existence.
Your perception is reflection of the heaps of impression you have poised.
Your idea of beauty ceases to end at the physical.
How caught up one must be in artificial frenzies
to realise the magnanimity of its being.
It is easy for you to envy my free spirit
than to kindle and empower your own.

Your conjectures is of least concern to me
I have transcended to the realms of higher consciousness.
I am a dreamer, dreaming of things they don't apprehend.
Don't sing me the rationale,
I have long rejected your ways of imprisonment.
My rebellion roots from your transient grounds of justice.
I refuse to step on yours for I am busy creating mine.
A world of my dreams.

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