Dream Catcher

Dream Catcher
After this while, she stopped having dreams of her own.

She wanted to be that instrument

The Harp

The flute

The reed

What better than to be the dream catcher?

And none of the dream belong to thee?

What do you want they would ask?

What desires? What hopes? What paths to trod?

Make me Thy instrument of Love. 

Plant me where the dreams grow.

That little boy at the end of street.

He desires those azure slippers.

His feet are cold. So is his soul. 

Perfume of the scented candles he sells forsakes his soul all these days.

There these lies, in middle of this Persian bazar, below the jaded mannequinn wearning things of past

those shiny azure slippers that warm his heart

Make me the slippers for the cold boy.

Make me little warmth for those little feet, can you?

Every evening, at dusk and dawn.

When seekers weep and seers see. 

She waits.Longs. Sleeps then wakes. And wait a little more.

He said, he will see her when the high tide rises again.

She watches the moon. Grow and shrink.

At start, on brink. 

Endless days without sleep and pain. 

Just numb-ness. Haunting. Daunting. 

Make me those high tides for her.

Make me the bliss of a meeting after longing, can you?

The evening star that follows her car.

Her only companion and that too far.

Can someone be so lonely, to befreind a star.

Who cares, she says she needs company.

Ain’t I lucky, I can see my listner, her excuse.

But her excuse fails on cloudy days?

Make me the brightest evening star on a cloudy day.

Make me her only reason for being grateful, can you?

Homes,lifes and families aren’t the only things lost in wars.

For him, it was his soft-toy puppy.

The smiling puppy with his chewing bone, a little torn at side.

The puppy turned dirt black in ever rising smokes.

In the war, it was his hope.

The puppy smiled even in war, so happy with its chewing bone. 

And now, war claimed it too.

Make me the dirt black, a little torn at side, bone chewing puppy. 

Make me his hope, can you?

He is frail, he is old, his sons are away.

Fed them and bred them and taught them and walked them.

Now doorbells are nightmairs, its difficult to walk that far.

Why we live for our kids, but they need to work, i am just an old man, seems like his excuses won’t last.

Make me the son he never had, with only job to take his care. 

To love him and open the door when the bell rings.

Make me his caretaker, can you?

Make me a happy dream which puts her to sleep.

Make me the soothing touch of grass on his bare feet.

Make a refreshing flower near his hostipal bed.

Make me the beatiful consoling words which were never said. 

Make me colorful kites, paper boat, a needed currency note.

Or his new sneakers, or her over-coat.

Make me a smile which lasts for a while.

Make me lingering peace, a feeling of ease.

Make me love, make me love, love in any form, without form. 

Make me hope or dream or more love, flowing love now on.

Make me the dream catcher, who caught everyone’s dreams.

‘Coz she had none, for her own, to own or to wean.

So, she became for everyone, she became everyone, can that be?

Let me catch dreams and live them to be love incarnate. 

Because only You can Dear Lord ☺

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