Of cloudless climes and starry skies.

'Would you by any chance know, my love, what you and this night hold in common? It is but the exquisiteness, the glamour, the mystery, and most of all- the darkness, my precious.'

All I want to do is sit up, and stare into the darkness of the night. Feel the wind. Unleash my thoughts. Let them wander everywhere, anywhere.

 I just wish to stay up all night tonight and think. Think about... nothing. Think about everything.

'She walks in beauty, like the night

Of cloudless climes and starry skies..'

-- Lord Byron

Your pain is...

Your pain is the breaking of the shell
that encloses your understanding.

Even as the stone of the fruit must break,that its
heart may stand in the sun, so must you know pain.

And could you keep your heart in wonder
at the daily miracles of your life, your pain
would not seem less wondrous than your joy;

And you would accept the seasons of your
heart, even as you have always accepted
the seasons that pass over your fields.

And you would watch with serenity
through the winters of your grief.

Much of your pain is self-chosen.

It is the bitter potion by which the
physician within you heals your sick self.

Therefore trust the physician, and drink
his remedy in silence and tranquillity:

For his hand, though heavy and hard, is guided
by the tender hand of the Unseen,
And the cup he brings, though it burn your lips,
has been fashioned of the clay which the Potter
has moistened with His own sacred tears.

--Khalil Gibran 

A dream deferred...

What happens to a dream deferred?

Does it dry up 

like a raisin in the sun? 

Or fester like a sore-- 

And then run? 

Does it stink like rotten meat? 

Or crust and sugar over-- 

like a syrupy sweet?

Maybe it just sags 

like a heavy load.

Or does it explode?

-Langston Hughes

Do you dream? Do you hold them close to your heart? Are your dreams the paint brushes that colour your life? Do you believe in them? Do you still?

I don't.

For me, dreams are like stars. When you are a child, you look up at them and smile. Their twinkle creates a mirror image in your eyes. You wish to touch them so that some of their shimmer might stick to your fingers and then you can brush your face gently and glitter like a star itself. But once you grow up, the truth is slapped onto you. The stars are nothing but huge spheres of very hot, glowing gases. First of all, you cannot touch them and even if you somehow do, you will burn yourself.

There is something else common between them as well. Their death. When stars die, they explode into trillions of pieces and go flying haywire in the space, hit whatever comes in their path, destroy (or damage) others; or just get lost in the eternal vastness of the universe. When dreams die, they too shatter into billion little sharp pieces. But they don't fly away, they stay put- in your eyes, and prick them, and sting them for as long as they can. They are like tiny pieces of glass stuck in your eyes. Each time you blink, they make it hurt.

Stars are just a hoax. Their shine, their twinkle lasts only as long as you are gazillions of miles away from them. They are nothing but giant burning balls, oblivious and orbit-less. They are a sham. And so are dreams.