i dream of a borrowed theme

Look around as the ancient aid and the world is your guide. This is the second consecutive blog stemming from a theme that I was led to by a friend of mine- a true blue Indian this time and a poetess,( or is that 'poet' in these enlightened times) at least whenever she is not enacting the wildest fantasies of a cat called Jerry.
So in the course of a lazy Sunday conversation, more to stop my rambling wayward parables on randomly correlated issues than anything else, she told me she was stuck bang in the middle of composing a ditty-a rather profound and still simplistically charming one actually. The theme was an internal debate raging between her practical self which disdainfully dismissed dreams as mere abstractions and her fanciful self which toed the line of dreams constituting the living soul of our actions. The dreaming mind was referred to, with a deft touch of artistry as "bawra mann"- or loosely translated -the silly naive innocent heart, borrowed quite glibly from the famously poignant opening lyric of a much liked film song.
So all keyed up by this borrowing spiel, I was cheeky enough to ask permission to write up one on the same theme. I got the permit(needless to say, contingent to appropriate citations of course!!)
so here's my take on the unending dialogue between the harsh unyielding practical man and the whimsical fanciful dreamer waxing lyrical eloquence


The dreams have their own paths
through dark alleys that suddenly shimmer with hope
they point to the shiny lights that beckon me to come at a lope
they have rainbows that stretch across the mighty blue and
full of mischief, beckon those who can , to come grab the pot of gold with a yellow hue
"be wary of dreams" says the wizened man, "for they are like roads with a mind of their own,
over frisky rivulets of impossibilities they leap across,
suffering no impediment to hold them, while they run fast towards the shining goal;
beware child, for once u walk this flying road too oft might you miss the road that lies below- the path that bleeds and extracts a price for every step that you take. For oft it may hap that u may not see the rutted road with your eyes on the rainbow's hoard, and u might slip and fall; and many a man hath never gotten once he took a fall. Then your life will be an empty heartbeat, never to sit again in the driving seat and you will die a broken wreck of a man, despairing of the dream that you couldn't make your own at reveille."
but said the young child with the gleam of stars in his naughty eyes,
"what u say wise one may well be true
but I prefer to follow my own crazy path; with my eyes locked fast and deep on the fleeting bridge that leads to the distant stars. for yes it may come to pass that the shining paths of half glimpsed dreams make me lose sight of the deep crack that pit the roads which mortal man is doomed to walk and that I might lose my way and stumble on my lonely road; blinded as I am by the light of a thousand angels; but when all hath been said and done I would much rather have followed a shooting star to its very end than walk the long narrow dark road without a beginning or an end for where the price of hope is fear and the price of a single glimpse of a hidden thought not yet born is life itself then I would gladly pay the price for when I Wake into the twilight I shall carry with me the sweet whispers of a distant island of the day before and I shall naught but be contended in my own sweet lore."
-hmm now this poem has turned out to be soething else completely don't ya agree my gentle muse!!
grateful acknowledgements are due to ALE!!