dreams

My dream now is much like
your abandoned bloodline.
She died today, died before my eyes,
crushed & crumbled into monolouges---i call them her last words.
My dream, she is like my Ammi's heart,
and not like my Baba's cracked ceiling.
I didn't weep, for a moment I couldn't feel her loyalty, all of a sudden,
she left as if she never belonged, but,
but she left me saying that---
i die when fools like you wake up to sanity.
I was fourteen when i first met my dream on a winding way to obscurity, she was a abnodoned ocean of love, who averaged her way to free me off shackles---
shackles made out of the scraps
of their tamed expectations.
She walked me through thistles, held me in darkness, loved me like freedom
and left me like stranger.
I wish I could save her who once saved me,
but, now I wish I had,
She walked me on the road that then were my nerves, and the air that blew through them was my blood that carried life;
She was a local metro window through which I would look at sunrise and sunsets,
She was a habit I tamed to survive;
but she died, so I died too.
Thursday evening, we were walking hand in hand when Baba caught us for the first time, he didn't speak, but left me remembering my ' dignity '
I was always taught this art of sacrifice,
Not only me, but all the men are taught this---
this art of sacrificing her, your dreams,
sacrificing to walk in accord with your dignity,
sacrificing to preserve your bloodline,
sacrificing to walk with heads up---
because she was shame, who would bring forsighted regret.
So, like all other men, i left her to death
after knowing my ' dignity '
because small men dream small--- Baba taught me, i was small then.
I wish I hadn't listened to Baba.
I wish I had saved her.
My dream died before my eyes,
but I was too coward to save her.