Dreams dreams my stupid dreams,
Why do you show me things that can’t be,
Some say you are the vision of the future,
Some think you are hidden desires of a repressed mind,
Caught in the unconscious,
You fight with my conscious mind,
Some pay a fortune to interpret you,
Some make a fortune out of you.
You are like a slithering fish hard to catch,
Vanishing like a thin cloud of smoke in a snatch,
You become a child’s wishing star,
And a poor man’s success hour.
A saviour for the withering soul,
People have been known to live their lives in you,
You are the night’s softest cushion,
Relieving the tired mind of its worries,
So dreams, dreams, my stupid dreams,
In the night, in my sleep,
Show me things that can be,
For you are, my mind’s only reprieve.
© Anjali Mukherjee, 2012
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