My eyes are burning; my vision fogged. My aspirations are crushed; my faith shaken. My past is acrimonious; my future uncertain. A flicker of dream remains; remains, to keep me breathing. It refuses to go away. Audacious, defiant dream. Reverberations in my mind…I hear these words-

“But I being poor have only my dreams.

I spread my dreams beneath your feet.

Tread softly, for you tread on my dreams.”

Poor indeed I am. Nothing save my world of dreams constitutes my wealth. My wealth- wholly intangible at present. When realized, though, my dreams are bound to make me the richest. Richest- with happiness. Richest- with contentment. Richest- ‘cuz I’ll have all with me I ever dreamt of. Dreamt of. Dreamt.

Dream. Hapless dream. It only is the culprit. My mind says so. I can’t deny it. My heart still wants to harbor the dream. I can’t deny it either. The pursuit of this dream, the attachment to it, makes me brittle. I’m shattered many a times along the road.

The path was uphill, I knew. So steep, I knew not.

Obstacles paved the way, I knew. In such abundance, I knew not.

Destination was far, I knew. Almost on unreachable horizons, I knew not.

And yet, I set off. Harrying myself. Challenging myself. A glimpse of the destination- an alacrity. A change in weather, a misty ennui. So many people I meet along the way, each with his own ‘shortcut’ to the destination. Difficult to hear ‘em all. Difficult to ignore ‘em all. Difficult to hold my ground. Easy to let go.

Let go I must not. If I let go, then where do I go? Strengthen. Steel. Maneuver. Plan. (said someone- ‘planning is not success, it only makes the road to success easier’)

Fear not anyone, but yourself. Only if you decide, you stop. Else, you continue moving. Walking. With companions. Alone. In cold. In sun. In mist. In shower. Understand nature’s chicanery. (You’ll find 15 reasons why not to go after a dream, each more convincing than the one that says you should.)

Fealty. To no one, save your own self.

A problem, however, exists. My legs are chained. The chains- rusted, ancient, orthodox. My controllers, my conservative lords- not game for the unconventional route. They overtake my steps. They haul me along. They show me the way, I wish not to see. They still drag ahead. They trample my dreams. (tread softly- did I not tell them that?)

I pick the trampled disfigured ones. I cosset them. I nurture them. It’s only a matter of time. Someday, and God knows when, but someday it’ll be my day. And that day, nature will find its rhythm in my heart beats. Sun will shine within my eyes. The heavens, for once, will side with me. I’ll decide my own course. I'll be my own prophet.

“I shall be telling this with a sigh,

Somewhere ages and ages hence.

Two roads diverged in a yellow wood and I,

I took the one less traveled by,

And that has made all the difference." - Robert Frost