The Dream

Certain dreams are just dreams
They come and go out of one's eyes
In the darkness
Of the night itself
Some come to stay forever  
When seen in day with wide open eyes
Like longing for someone 
With no reason
With no regrets 
Then bloom Yellow Roses  
In the backyard of one's loneliness
And with thorns 
Yet prick not fingers
But cut the corners of the heart 
Just not to bleed 
Just not to make one sad
Just not to torment 
Just not to make cry in wilderness 
But just to enter softly in the arteries 
Just to shape the life 
Just to energize 
Just to carry the fragrance
Of the eternal love 
To every  part of the mortal  body
To the soul  
Thereafter no dream remains the dream

Ramkishore Upadhyay