There’re dreams that we once had–
Which with time vanished as vapour.
Love that we felt and turned us into a river–
But didn’t find an ocean,
Wild words which hit the wrong target,
Moments that were lost in a haze,
Fairy tales that never happened.
What do we do with those?
Where do we keep them?
If we save in the chest of memories–
We open the lid often and–
wear the crown of thorns over our heads.
If we throw it away.
It becomes an oil spill in the sea.
What if we become a river of love–
And bury the chest deeper, much deeper in the soft soil of our minds–
And choose new colours.
A new paradise.