Tag Archives: poem

Our Real Life

When we grow up, we leave the nest and finally fly on our own. But then, sometimes, it also feels like the opposite: we leave the realm of soaring dreams and reach the ground. We pull our heads out of the clouds where it has been all along. Time to face the reality of independent life, full of cares and responsibilities.

Remember how young we were
When unbidden love knocked on our door?
When naivety trully was bliss…
I wish it would last evermore.

Then, problems didn’t exist as such.
To be honest, we didn’t care too much.
It was nothing to really care for;
So we went to classes and shared lunch.

Now I share my lunch with TV;
And I have my dinner with myself and me;
And a tear might drop in my cup.
Have you ever had breakfast with salty tea?

Here it is, here comes the so-called
Our “real life,” as professors told.
It’s so real – I couldn’t have ever imagined
That we’d live in different parts of the world.

Why can’t you and I simply choose
To backtrack to the times we don’t want to lose?
Do we have to wake up to adulthood
When I’d rather prefer to snooze?

And it feels like this every step of the way, with every new challenge in life. Every new phase brings in more complexity; and when we look back, the times that have passed don’t look as tough as they used to seem before (at least when compared to the new bigger challenges). And this is a good thing. It is a sign of personal growth.



Here’s a poem about the magical world of dreams, the land to which we drift into in our sleep:

When evenings expire and sink in the dark,
Your thoughts will depart to another existence.
They’ll seep through the pillow and slowly embark
For islands beyond apprehensible distance.

The islands of treasure are calling for you.
They beckon with fluttering yarrow crowns,
And faraway hills of the indigo hue,
And spirited grasses of yellows and browns.

What treasure, you ask, is contained within?
The type that is only of matter to you:
Your hopes, iridescent and paper-thin,
And shimmering wishes reflected in dew.

You’ll wander about and linger in awe,
Admire the land as you cut across,
And right by the dawn, just before you withdraw,
You’ll shelter your memories under the moss.

(The scenic photo above was taken in Eastern Kazakhstan, the land of steppes and blue mountains. The photo of lush moss was taken in Acadia National Park, Maine, USA)

What about your dreamy state of mind? Does it leave you enchanted, intrigued, saddened (hopefully, not), recharged, lost? Either way, I’m sure it’s special. Please share your comments!