Dream so big, it’s attainable,
A world of possibilities lies ahead.
Laugh with the crowd passing by,
Joke around, make fun of dread.
Life full of wonder and joy,
As if sadness never came,
As if it never rained,
As if autumn never swayed.
But it’s all a lie, for I, too, have strayed,
Lost in my whims and desires, betrayed.
Desire to be loved, honored, one with the crowd,
Yet different, carefree, wild, and joyous.
A girl of her own, a sunflower in a sunny field,
Or perhaps that’s too much a grace for me.
Desire to burn all insecurities, love the past,
Be perfect—this best version of some illusion.
Be what someone would like me for,
Recognize me for, love me for.
Or perhaps that’s just a fakeness to mask.
Desire to be among great people, as the world calls them,
The ones who served the most, got the most:
Fame, money, power—all an influence.
Or perhaps that’s too mundane—a dream everyone dreams.
Desire to flip life to the last page,
Only to begin again with the end known.
Or perhaps that’s just impossible to work through.
I force myself to write,
Searching for a prompt, a word, a line to guide.
A sonnet, a verse to which I could reply.
But it never comes, and maybe that’s alright.
Or perhaps it’s just a dark picture I can’t rewrite.
Amongst all colors and vibrance,
Amongst all flowers and exuberance,
I find a spot so grey,
Right in the middle of day.
A chamber so deep within,
Screams of predators so free.
It sits there, defeated, dejected,
“You have fallen prey”—
Desires and whims,
A story of clay.
--Rafia Shakeel
