What Are Dreams Made Up Of
Dreams, my only escapisms
No more realisms or academisms
Only altruisms and fairyisms
There, where my love lies in mysticisms!
Dreams, made of your essence
I become there not a butterfly
But a moth craving for luminescence
Wild and free, as pig in a pigsty!
Dreams, the only place where I can let go
And speak of all that has never been said
All that pain in my veins which made me an albino
All gets drained away, as it had been soothsaid!
Dreams, my own escapisms
To run away from reality
A harsh and cruel monstrosity
Made up of your aching absenteisms!
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