The dreams
So few to muse,
Are deterred
By new to a view,
Of tomorrow
Near and here,
What is eclipsed
Cheer or fear?
What is arranged
First and last?
Such a plane is
Life as a knife,
In a bid to cut longings,
Is there a wilful segregation
Of the few and the true
To ride into a dawn of
Dauntless river of pride?
( Dreams are akin to myths which cannot be a reality. Even if there are a few good dreams which become a reality, life will become proud dawn with no fear.)
