Dreams I Dare Not Dream
You wish me to speak of my despair
Then I shall tell you of the dreams I dare not dream.
To live simply under an old banyan tree by the stream –
Clean, pristine, free of sin.
You by my side, what could've been.
You ask me to speak of my sorrows
Then I shall show you the tears of my mother as she prays for me.
They fall with the heft of a lifetime of worries
Splashing into a pool of silken misery,
Breaking my heart as I hear her plea.
For me, to be holy, wholly.
You ask me of my rage.
I take you to the window and show you the city –
I rage not at the city, but for it.
I rage for it not being allowed to love me,
I rage for not allowing myself to love it,
I rage, I rage, I rage, knowing it rages with me.
And then I rage at you, gently,
With these questions, you kill me softly.
You never ask of my joy, my love, my hope,
You don't ask of my victories or even laugh at my jokes.
Nevertheless, I will tell you of my joy –
It is belly laughing with my friends after a day of endless woes,
It is the smell of gorom khichuri during a downpour,
It is the juicy kick of an orange on a cold winter night
And the silent comfort of sharing them with you by my side.
And about my love?
Boundless, insatiable, untapped.
It seeps out of me every chance it gets
It flies, it runs, it even crawls, for what?
For a pair of open arms,
For the warmth of a forehead kiss,
For a home.
For hope is when I dream those dreams I dared not dream.
It is fantasy and delusion and reality and everything in between,
Hope is when I look out at the world and see a place for you and me
Dancing in childlike glee, carefree, under that old banyan tree.