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The poet speaks of the ordinary dreams of an ordinary woman - a home with all its ordinary trappings, that are now lie unused.
The poet speaks of the ordinary dreams of an ordinary woman – a home with all its ordinary trappings, that are now lie unused.
Blue curtains
Lie crumpled on the floor,
Like the remains of a dream.
They are not needed any more
To adorn the windows,
To prevent the glaring sunlight
From entering the bedroom.
They are not needed any more,
For nobody inhabits the house any more.
The balcony lies empty,
Untidy,
For nobody cared to clean it.
Once someone wanted to
Deck it with potted plants.
Windows with blue curtains,
Balcony with potted plants,
Modular kitchen,
Branded water-purifiers –
All the ingredients of a mediocre dream
Breath their last,
For nobody cares for that dream now.
Mediocre dreams are like plants,
Needing someone to water them,
To care for them.
But I have traded them
For achievement.
And my fragile mediocre dreams
Failed to withstand
The glare of brilliance.
Image source: pixabay
An engineer by education, I am a civil servant by profession. A doting mother. An avid reader. I try my hand at writing as and when ideas tussle inside my head. read more...
This post has published with none or minimal editorial intervention. Women's Web is an open platform that publishes a diversity of views, individual posts do not necessarily represent the platform's views and opinions at all times.
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