by Ananya Mondal
The dreams come and go,
But their images stay back on the show.
Blocked by visual imagination,we rarely
Step in the Highland of dreams.
The promiscuous sun bears to us the infernal beauty
As we dream,we never reach to the Highlands.
The Highlands are dark and disdained,
Or a bountiful flower valley bearing charming fruits
In between their soft stems,we don't know.
Because none have been to the place.
But I believe one can reach this place oblivious,
When the time comes for one to depart,to depart from
The stages valiant show.
The show you and I have sustained for years, patiently,
To see the final dream of reaching the Highlands,
Before living the hall,
Before sleeping forever in the arms of human race.
The arms of dogmatic and idiocratic race is still and firm,
Even in the episodes of deep dark phantom.
The phantoms seem to catch eye of the civilizations most awesome guy,
Guided by the tickling time,to be or not to be
Is the mystery to be solved down the line.
The enigma of beauty that the highest standard of phantom carries,
Drags us to prolific drearies.
Mostly,it takes a bunch of pills to see the Highland of Dreams.
The civilizations myopic eye is patiently going to die.
I want to live through my soul's journey,
To see the Highlands as many times as can I.
I want to walk along with no-one else on my side,
But my soul guiding me to the Highland of Dreams.
No pills shall I take, no fears shall I have while walking,
As I know I will be emerging victorious,
If I get a chance again to stroll to the Highland of Dreams.
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