We are made to dream, to think like paper kites, to fly.
We are made to dance, swim and play ball, to sing a new song.
We are made to be children of the world, butterfly of tomorrow to run through the mirror and the forest, unannounced,
gaze at the horizons, a clip of our imagination.
We are made to dream.
A dream, any dream, that dream in the corner of the tree, in the swing set on a backyard, in the playground of the paper mill.
A dream is inexpensive. It is colorless. It has no boundaries or covers
but it speaks,
it leaves marks and unaccounted stains
It is gratis.
©️ Angela Aguiar
I nodded off for a second as the carpet quietly flew through brassy pavements and broken glasses, moons away from the helipad. It has been a ride for the ages on a bicycle, a bus, a train, a helicopter, a subway, as it parachuted down the open skies, landing on top of an earthquake. It has driven itself through endless highways, baked the perfect cake, peaked through the window to seeing only one dope combustible cocktail, a blank paper in the open vent, the perfect scenario for the local community theatre troupe.
As the revolving door rotated in the circle of not so bleak cylinder non stop, I landed firm charging the batteries, shooting pesos in the air at the Up Stairs to mend fences and finding that perfect sausage to scribble away my laughter.
I cheered no more and just clapped. Clapped as I woke up shaken from the drunken stupor dream of small pinky dots. I winked as flashes of sparkling blessings bundled in one perfect bouquet of harmonious stars smiled in the air. I screamed as the engine light came on my dashboard. I swear, I thought I was in heaven and nothing could tell me otherwise, as I sailed through the stupefaction of conspiracies but nope; it so happens that I run into the stupid wall the other day and momentarily could not tell my story straight. There, go figure, I was asleep!
©️ Angela Aguiar
“Are you there yet?” “Yes, I am”, replied the feathered friend nested in the lantern. Nature and its things.
I wished to also be there, way up, relaxing on my make believe bed, looking down on the world and the passerby, checking on them going by.
I wished I was up there dreaming, wondering what the view would be like, how the people would appear in their itty bitty costumes, react once I was spotted piercing thorough the lantern, wondering if I would irradiate a pint of light, a beacon of an answered question and let them be guided.
I wonder, if I would be sitting quietly, rain or shine, hot or cold, eyes closed, the wind blowing, taking it all in, breathing; looking in a straight line, hanging upside down or upward or down up, depending on the present combinations of rubik’s cube I land in. Perhaps, it wouldn’t be so coquettish I lean on the stairwell solid brass pretending I was home, while wondering if my newly minted roommates would parachute in to tell me a bedtime story.
You must be logged in to post a comment.