Tag Archives: verse 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’

Green Tara and the Man who was Lost — A Short Opera

Posted in Poetry English by

A haunting mini-opera where a lost wanderer encounters Green Tara (Buddhist goddess of compassion, tear drop of Avalokiteshvara) in a cold desert and receives devastating truths instead of comfort.

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The man was tired of walking for long in the cold desert. The sand was almost silver and stung his feet with the chill from last night. An equally tired, grey sun failed to warm the grains of sand. And then, when he had almost lost hope, Green Tara suddenly appeared out of thin air.

The man fell to his knees, joined his hands in supplication, and addressed the goddess:

‘O Green Tara, the tear drop of Avalokiteshvara,

have mercy on me, for I have sought you for long

You are the goddess of all those who are lost,

and I have lost myself, correct me if I am wrong’

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The Goddess watched the man with pity. She knew him well. He was the child of sorrow and had been miserable all through his pathetic life. In fact, why the man was still alive, was what worried Green Tara.

She contemplated the wretched creature huddled at her feet for some time, and then decided to tell him the truth:

‘Yes, you are lost indeed, that I can see,

lost forever, a child of sorrow and pain

You have been cursed by the gods,

cursed when you were born in the times of rain’

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The man turned his teary eyes to the goddess and asked:

‘But why me? Why was I cursed by the gods?

Isn’t it unfair? To be gifted with all the odds?’

Green Tara thought some more and then answered:

‘Whom do you belong to,

and whom do you possess?

Whom do you beg and cry to,

when you are in a dire mess?

You are a man from nowhere,

with no principles or morals

No good deeds in your bag,

and to your name, no laurels

Whom do you seek for solace,

and from whom do you beg forgiveness?

Whom do you choose to walk along,

when you are grieving and in distress?

You are a man with no certain future,

with no notable past or a worthy present

No real and lofty victories to boast of,

and a million regrets to resent

Whom do you love without conditions,

and whom do you serve selfless?

Whom do you hate with a vengeance,

when you feel the drive to aggress?

You are a man with no attachments,

with no relief and comfort in sight

No real gains to be happy about,

and what awaits you is only plight

Whom do you see as your companion,

and whom do you look for love?

Whom do you expect not to judge you,

when you are low in sin and not above?

You are a man who cannot be loved,

with no pure virtues or real talents

No sincere affections to be proud of,

and when mistreated, no one repents

You are just an anomaly in the system,

something to be removed and corrected

You are the broken gear in the machine,

something to be trashed and rejected

You are the one true monstrosity,

and carry the heaviest burden of guilt

You are the grandest absurdity,

cheap wine, to be mocked and spilt

What makes you happy and what makes you sad?

These are questions you know the answers to

Happiness will come and sadness will go,

you know these two will never come true

You are the one who is eternally lost,

between what should be and what can be

You are the one who is forever damned,

for wanting something that can never be’

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The man was dejected. He kept on crying for a while, and then, when his tears dried up, he raised his head and asked Green Tara:

‘What will become of me O Green Tara?

May I expect a salvation or perhaps a respite?

Or is it my destiny to be a lost wanderer,

a man without soul, or maybe a dark knight?’

Green Tara looked at him with pity in her lovely eyes.

‘No respite for you and no salvation,

for your curse is eternal, no other repirmand

But only if you can let go of your ego,

and become what the others demand

You will find all you seek except yourself,

no doom and your fate, you’ll command’

Am I Good Enough for You? (A Mini Opera)

Posted in Poetry English by
galatea_and_polyphemus_by_thesecondbus_d7y0cde-fullview-1

This is the final dialogue between the miserable and desperate Polyphemus, and the idealistic Galatea - the helpless lover and the arrogant nymph.

Myth says that once upon a time, even before the birth of time itself, the Cyclops Polyphemus saw Galatea, the nymph, and fell in love with her. But there was a dilemma as he was large and ugly, while she was a perfect beauty. No matter how much he loved Galatea and no matter what he sacrificed for her, she did not accept his love. Finally, doomed and cursed, Polyphemus threw rocks at Galatea and her lover. As a punishment, he was transformed into a river destined to flow amongst the wild mountains forever - alone and miserable.

‘With a heart filled with love and my words so true,

am I good enough for you?

With my mind fixed on you and my soul without a clue,

am I good enough for you?’

He asks Galatea while the shadows of doubt line his single dark eye.

‘No, I am afraid not!’ She smiles at him coldly, untouched by his bitter misery.

‘No matter how hard you try,

you may scream or you may cry

No matter how long you try,

you may bleed or you may die

You’ll never be good enough for me

No matter how high you fly,

you may kiss the earth or may reach the sky

No matter how sincerely you pry,

you may shout or you may sigh

You’ll never be good enough for me’

‘But what if I change, and what if I transform?

What if I become the sunlight after a storm?’

He pleads with eyes filled with all the sadness in the world.

‘No, still no!’ She replies adamantly with steely resolve gleaming in her blue eyes

‘Even if you change and even if you evolve,

from a thorn to a rose, you may transform

Even if you become godly,

and God Almighty Himself approves your form

You’ll never be good enough for me

Even if you evolve

to all my rules, you may conform

Even if you become Adonis,

and loving you becomes a norm

You’ll never be good enough for me’

‘And why is that so?

Why a strict adherence to status quo?’

Looking down, he asks, dejection underlining his desperate whisper.

‘Well that’s a good question.’ She looks at him with pity.

‘You don’t matter,

and you don’t matter at all

Whatever you may do,

either very big or just very small

You may bang your head,

against a high stone wall

You may bloody your fists,

you may stand or may even crawl

Whatever you do is useless,

and you will always fall’

‘Then what should I do?

For my love is so true!’

Polyphemus raises his arms and begs till he is hoarse.

‘That is but for you to decide!’ Galatea decrees with finality — her voice etched in stone.

‘You may die a lonely death,

or you may burn forever

You may fade with the harsh wind,

or you may pray to whomever

You may make great plans,

or you may do something clever

You may aspire big and grand,

or you may rise to whatever

Whatever you do is hopeless,

and I will be yours, oh never!’

‘Silence! You, the wretched lover!

Silence! Yo,u the arrogant queen!’

The skies go dark, and the voice of Zeus booms from above.

‘Quit this nonsense, let your arguing be done

Love is a godly trait, and not a race to be won

You are both mistaken, individually and as one

You are both misguided; logic is what you shun

The capability to love is what’s desired by everyone,

an unfulfilled dream, under the moon and the sun

Polyphemus! You can love, you will be a god in the long run

Galatea! For denying true love, my blessings for you are none’