Tag Archives: dialogue

The Graveyard of Dead Dreams – A Mini Opera

Posted in Poetry English by

A lyrical mini-opera about loss, regret, and the quiet duty of nurturing hope in others.

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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?’ He cried

You must know, you’re my Present and my Past’

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The Past was an old man dressed in moving shadows, while the Present was a young woman dressed in brilliantly colored 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 a graveyard as per the plan

We share your pain but are afraid, nothing can be done’

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The old man raised his head and looked at them in turn, dark sadness permeating his soul. 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 know how it really seems

I want to see my dead dream and lament her glory’

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The Past and Present thought for a moment and then spoke in harmony once again.

‘Far away from the dazzling dimensions of existence,

hidden in gloom, lies the graveyard of dead dreams

It borders a quiet lake and is visible from a distance,

and if you try hard, 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 even in the fall,

and also broken pieces, whatever this life trashes

Sitting at the broken gate, there is the old keeper,

his head is grey, and his eyes are filled with sorrow

All lonely and tired of his vigil against the grim reaper,

hope is something so far off, he can’t even borrow

‘What’s there to guard?’ he is often asked to elaborate

‘They are just broken dreams, need no looking after

They are all dead, you see, so what do you await?’

The people don’t try to hide their taunts and laughter

‘You are of course, right, and I do not blame you’

The old man says with shadows lining his brow

‘But, they are my sleeping children, it’s my view;

graves are their beds, where flowers need to grow’

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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 looked and looked and then looked some more,

for the forgotten ruins covered in green moss

He walked and walked until he could walk no more,

his heart grew heavy, and his feet bled raw with each stride

He looked and looked until he could look no more,

his spirit lost its resolve, though he determinedly tried

And then one day, when he was about to quit his quest,

he at last reached the graveyard, that of the dead dreams

He just turned a corner and saw it from afar, due west,

the graveyard beside the silent lake, alive with screams

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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, his piercing blue eyes peering out 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? Or what is it that you bring?

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; for her, I have always cried

I reared her with my blood; alas! She died in her prime’

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The Custodian was touched by the old man’s pleas, but he was helpless.

‘What you say wrenches 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’

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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 under the lofty skies

Let me sit by her side amidst the flowers growing wild,

mourning the loss of her smile and the shine in her eyes’

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The Custodian thought 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 had just one dream, are the others’ dreams dead too?

Go nurture them, as all dreams become gold under the sun

Go nurture them, as to everyone, their dream is the one true’

‘Now you know the value, when your own dream is dead

Now you know how it feels, the loss of your dearest dream

Go and nurture the dreams of others, and pat their head;

make all those dreams come true and solace, you will redeem’

Gamayun and the Child of Autumn – A Dialogue

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Note: Within first the Iranian and then the Russian folklore, Gamayun is the symbol of knowledge and wisdom. In the myth, she appears in the form of a prophetic bird, who resides on a lonely island situated somewhere in the east. As she knows everything about the true nature of human beings, gods, creation, and eternity, her prophecies are divine and magical – though difficult to comprehend and understand.

The night is silent and Gamayun sits atop a lonely rock, looking down on a landscape of magical lights and dark smoke. A gentle breeze is blowing from the northeast, carrying faint shades of some long-lost and ancient fragrance.

Suddenly, she senses a presence – there is someone beckoning her attention from the shadows. Gamayun raises her hand and commands:

‘Come forth! O child of misery and gloom; 

step forward and seek, even if it is your doom

Come forth! O dweller of grey desolation;

Beg for wisdom, if it’s of any consolation

The presence crawls forward, his tired knees digging deep grooves in the sand. He grabs hold of Gamayun’s feet and cries his heart out:

‘O Gamayun! The wise and the knowledgeable;

here I am, laying all my cards on the table

O Gamayun! The herald of divine prophecies;

all my dark visions unfolded, terrible atrocities

O Gamayun! Spread your golden wings in the sun;

for I am desperate and making my last run

O Gamayun! Behold my pain and tell me what I ask;

see this darkness, it is very real, it is not a mask  

Of all the God’s children, I am the child of autumn;

the failure is so terribly deep, that there is no bottom

I am not alone I know, yet unique in what I need;

I feel like a hollow dead tree, with neither fruit nor seed

It is not that I demand either wealth or riches or gold;

I just beg that my dream be fulfilled, single and untold

It is not that I ask for life everlasting or a great power;

I just implore that my heart be happy, not bitter or sour’

Sensing the man’s anguish and hearing his plea, Gamayun bends down her head and thinks for a while. She carefully prods her heart but finds nothing but dark tidings. She finally raises her head and whispers back:

‘You have come from afar – have my sympathies with you;

my heart weeps for you, yet there is nothing I can really do

Having asked your question, you have unburdened yourself;

your cause is lost, and what to tell you, I am lost myself

Of all the God’s many children, you are the most despised;

He made all his children out of love, all of them prized

You dream in vain, you cry in vain and you beg in vain;

He carved you out of sadness, dark soil, and cold rain

He hates you with a vengeance so very terrible and dark;

His distaste for you is so very naked and so very stark

He looks at you with pity though, the most what He can spare;

you may die or you may suffer, that He doesn’t at all care 

Being a child of autumn, it is a dark curse you carry;

you will always be sad and you will never be merry

It is your burden and your fate, how dark it may seem;

abandon all hope, you will never get what you dream’

Up there, sitting on His golden throne, God listens to all and smiles a tired smile. He is the wisest of all and the most powerful. Yet He is lonely because his wisdom goes beyond the understanding of mortals. He looks down kindly upon the child of autumn and his heaving shoulders; and whispers softly:

‘O Child of Autumn – you tread a treasured path;

yet you are blinded by grief, your fate a bloodbath

Of all my children, you are the most blue-eyed;

all my children are loved, you are the most prized

You dream in my way; an immense imagination;

I carved you out of wisdom, foresight, and adoration

I love you with an intensity, so very focused and clear;

it might appear as abstract, but I hold you so dear

I make you feel the pain and the agony of all others;

so you may suffer the suffering of your brothers

Being a child of autumn, it is not a curse you carry;

it makes you all patient so that you don’t tarry

It is not a dark burden, but a blessing filled with light;

with understanding comes wisdom, lofty and bright

Go in peace my child, go and serve the world and life;

you will grow and learn to walk the edge of a knife’ 

#English #poetry #poem #opera #Gumayun #God #misery #anguish #path #life #test #kindness #life #death #wisdom #help #love #light #darkness #curse

The Stranger in the Mirror (Previously, Man in the Mirror)

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He’s convinced ‘his coming was an error’ that needs correcting without delay—this is what severe depression sounds like when it talks to itself in the mirror.

A harrowing poem structured as instructions to confront the stranger in your own reflection—a man consumed by self-hatred, failed dreams, and the conviction that his departure would strengthen those he leaves behind.

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Go look at him, look at his pale face in the mirror,

how loathsome it is and yet so strangely dear

Look at him for long, and observe very closely,

and find on it quietly lurking, a dark, crippling fear

The fear of failed dreams and the fear of total loss,

of a life utterly failed, and a death by greed’s spear

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Go talk to him, talk to his dark face in the mirror,

with all of its passive and violent aggression

Talk to him for long, and listen with patience,

you will hear his final words, his ugly confession

From where did he come, and where will he go,

he will speak of darkness, and his cold depression

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You hate him with a vengeance, the man in the mirror,

you look at him with vile pity, you feel utter disgust

You are sickened by what he has now become,

no principles, no morality, and a lack of total trust

You are offended by the choices that he has often made,

there is just reigning chaos, the scorching wind, and dust

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You are so disappointed in him, the man in the mirror,

you do not hope for miracles; there will be no redemption

You witness his devastation, his fate is not to blame,

he is dissolving fast, an intentional self-destruction

He is being blown away by the cruel gusts of time,

spite, self-loathing, dejection, and also some rejection

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Go question him, go ask the man in the mirror,

Does he really have to leave? There is no other way?

And he will tell you no, staying is no longer an option,

the sky is overcast, the clouds all heavy and grey

He has to leave now; his coming was an error,

without any hesitation, without the slightest delay

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Go tell him now, go tell the man in the mirror,

there are those, who need him to stay a little longer

And he will tell you no, he has to say his farewell,

his absence will be hurtful, but it will make them stronger

He has always lived like this, braving all his pains,

and they will live so too, no fear, they won’t conquer