The twinklings linger in my sleep, I dream of chocolate rivers.
I leave the Christmas night unbolted and believe that Santa would meet me. That Santa would come.
That there is Santa.
My eyes would burn with sleep and I’ll wait anxiously for Santa to come.
The deep blue sky will walk with me wherever I go. In the night time the moon will follow me wherever I go.
I dream of the rain whispering to me, leaving me with messages of wet lands- green, deep and misty.
I leave messages of my own, in the outer space via my inner space, and hope and hope and I sincerely hope that they would conjoin with their bearers- wholly, fully, completely.
I have carved these places inside myself where beauty is ever evolving and hope immensely freeing;
where warmth forever dwells and love never eludes, never sourly swells.
I sit drinking from chocolate rivers, I wait for Santa too.
I seek the rain to talk to me and I hope my self-talk reaches places, people too.
The child in me still dreams of unicorns, it is bored of mathematical classrooms.
It peeps outside the transparent window, it dances with the clouds,
it chuckles in its imaginations with unicorns prancing about.
An angry voice curtly shouts,
“What are you dreaming about?”
I turn my eyes to the blackboard unwillingly, secretly still dreaming aloud.
I do not know what happened to that child, where he went all this time. He’s gone I feel,
away from me,
away from chocolate rivers,
away from Santa dreams.
I think of unicorns very rarely now. I’m so sure they’re not there.
Yet looking up into the deep, blue, cloudy sky makes me feel
what if they are?