Dreams Poem by Ajit Das

I weave my dreams:
big and small
of different hues;
some lost, some realised.
Dreams goad me on,
map the unknown course,
like a bird-song ringing
in a dark, stormy night.

Big dreams open up vistas
of ideas colliding,
ambitions vaulting.
I see in their eyes
heights of mountains,
nose-dive fall of stars.
They shake up life
out of its depths.

Small dreams stay
close to the route.
True or broken,
they make wavelets
of small joy and sorrow,
opening outlets
that meander again
to the safety of the road.