My dreams are my own
Not a hearsay... Not a dogma
Nor a fortunate happenstance
Neither served on a platter
Presented to perfection
In a flamboyant attire
Waiting to be judged
With a kind word perhaps

Instead
My dreams withheld
Years of labour
Sans desire
Nurtured in thoughts
Dearer than life itself (perhaps)

Cuddled in the depths of my mind
Born out of me
My very own child
Or perhaps
I am the child
Finding solace
In the arms of my dreams
Earlier i would doze off
To a gentle snore
Comforted by the promises
My dreams held
But now
My eyes close no more
Wide open in a stare
They look beyond
Waiting
Visualizing
My dreams happening.....