The Graveyard of Dead Dreams – A Mini Opera

     Legend tells us that away from the hustle and bustle of life and beyond the light of the setting sun, there is a forest – the emerald forest of imagination. Deep within this forest is the silver pool of glimmering desires. Surrounding the pool, are the grey boulders of regret and on one of those boulders, sat an old man dressed in a tattered black robe. He held his head within his palms and was pulling on his grey hair in anguish.
‘Oh! I had a dream and that dream just died;
Oh! My poor dream has breathed her very last
‘But where has my poor dream vanished away?
You must know, you’re my Present and my Past’

 

The Past was an old man dressed in moving shadows; while the Present was a young woman dressed in brilliantly coloured flowers. They looked at each other with despair darkening their eyes and then addressed the mourner.
‘Your dream is dead as you say, you poor old man!
Death is the beast that is cruel to all and spares none
She has been taken to the graveyard of dead dreams;
we share your pain but are afraid, nothing can be done’

 

The old man raised his head and looked at them in turn, dark sadness permeating his self. Then forcing his tears back, he asked:
‘And where is this graveyard of the dead dreams?
I have never heard of it, it’s probably just a story
But if real, I want to visit and pay my last respects;
I want to see my dead dream and lament her glory’

 

The Past and Present thought for a moment and then spoke in harmony once again.
‘Far away from the dazzling dimension of existence;
obscured in gloom is the graveyard of dead dreams
It lies peacefully besides a dark and quiet lake;
though if you try, you can hear the silent screams

 

Filled with many graves, both large and small;
there are even some black urns filled with ashes
So many pretty flowers to be found in each corner;
and also broken pieces, whatever this life trashes

 

Sitting at the broken gate, there is the old custodian;
his head is eternally bent and eyes filled with sorrow
All lonely and tired of his sad and constant vigil;
hope is something so far off, he can’t even borrow

 

‘What’s there to guard?’ he is often asked by people;
‘they are just broken dreams, need no looking after
They are all dead you see you foolish old custodian;’
they all make an effort to hide their merry laughter

 

‘You are of course right and I do not blame you’
The old man says with grey shadows on his brow
‘But, broken dreams are the sleeping children;
graves are their beds, where flowers need to grow’
 

 

The old man heard all this with silent somberness and then left in search of the graveyard.
He walked and walked and then walked some more;
through the valleys filled with dark pain and loss
He walked and walked and then walked some more;
through the forgotten ruins covered in green moss

 

He walked and walked, until he could walk no more;
his heart grew heavy and feet bled raw with each stride
He walked and walked, until he could walk no more;
his spirit lost the resolve though he determinedly tried

 

And then one day when he was about to stop and turn;
he at last reached the graveyard, that of dead dreams
He just turned a corner and there it was in front of him;
the graveyard besides the silent lake, alive with screams

 

He carefully approached the ancient custodian, who was quietly smoking an old pipe. On hearing the footsteps, the custodian raised his head; and looked questioningly at the old man with piercing blue eyes from between the silver strands of hair.
‘What do you need son? This is no place for the living
You look miserable though as if you are dead inside
What is that you seek? What is that you really desire?
You are all broken though you hide it well with pride’

 

Hearing this, the old man fell at the Custodian’s feet.
‘Misery…yes! Broken ….Yes! But there is no pride;
 I am just here to see my dead dream one last time
My dream was my child, she was all that I have ever had;
I reared her with my blood, alas! She died in her prime’

 

The Custodian was touched by the old man’s pleas, but he was helpless.
‘What you say wretches my heart, I assure you son!
But I cannot do anything; your dream is gone forever
Yes you can place flowers on the grave and mourn;
but you cannot caress its forehead and see it never’

 

The old man gripped the Custodian’s ankles and his tears fell in torrents.
‘Have mercy on me, I don’t want to abandon my child
She was my only possession; I cannot leave her like this
Let me sit by her side and straighten her long wet hair;
mourning the loss of her smile and the shine in her eyes’

 

The Custodian though for a moment and then holding the shoulders, raised the old man to his feet.
‘Tell me son…are all your dreams dead or just this one?
If you’d just one dream, are the others’ dreams dead too?
Go nurture them as all the dreams are lovable children;
go nurture them as to everyone, their dream is the one true’

 

‘Now you know the value, when you own dream is dead;
now you know how it feels, the loss of the dearest dream
Go and serve the dream of another whom you really love;
materialize that dream and your solace you will redeem’

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