Dreamscape

By Shragvi Yadav

Faint, low, raw—the smell of intention,

Slow, internal, exhausting—the warmth of fear,

There in the corner—lurks hope,

Grey clocks—fear,

Voices—fear,

Incompetence—fear,

Doubt murdering another ambition in a defeated afternoon.

Printed dreams over a hundred failures,

My dream is visceral,

Do you hear it breathing?

It rests on the sheets of emotion.

The world exhausts me,

Paced dreams, slowed dreams, real dreams, borrowed dreams—

Every night is a dreamscape,

The music is a release from a normed escape,

The music is a release,

Its words a grease from an old routine—

An old routine that drips off of an old dream.

Pages yearning to be written upon,

Unconventional, distant and unloved,

My dream fans the fires of a foreign warmth.

Faint, low, raw—the smell of intention,

Slow, internal, exhausting—the warmth of fear,

There in the corner—lurks hope,

Child-like, terrified and mine—

Potent, distant, and mine—

There in the corner lurks a dream,

Relentless, daemonic, outlying—

And mine.

Printed dreams over a hundred fears,

Hundred dreams on one failure,

Yet, there she lives—like Lucia,

Burning—relentless—intentional—

her dreams—her dreams, surreal.

By Shragvi Yadav