Tales of the Ancient Turtle – Merchant of Dreams

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‘Dreams can either be the most terrible or most wonderful of all experiences, God has ever created.’ The turtle slowly opened his sleepy eyes.

 

‘Why terrible?’ I was taken aback at the turtle’s response. I thought he was a dreamer like me.

 

‘Dreams are terrible when they remain dreams. They try to survive by raising their delicate heads and breathing in the air of imagination. But a time comes when they die. And when they breathe their last, they lose their vibrant colors and turn into the grey dust of regret.’ The turtle said, sadly prodding the dry leaves littering the pale grass.

 

‘But I thought dreams were beautiful things –romance, adventure and imagination.’ I felt my legs weakening and I sat down on the pale grass besides the turtle.

 

‘Yes they are sometimes beautiful. They are beautiful once they evolve into something meaningful; something which can be cherished and something which can become a legacy. But when you allow them to die, they become the ugly remnants of their former majestic selves. And most of the dreamers do just that – they let their dreams die.’

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Silence of the Cursed

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Åsa was only six years old but very different from his age mates. He preferred his own company over that of his friends’. A conflict raged like a storm within him. Outside, he was all sunshine and flowers and butterflies; and inside, he was as dark the heavy rain clouds. Åsa was also highly intelligent but depressed. The bright flashes of intelligence lit the heavy clouds of depression at frequent intervals.

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