Dreams in various colours emerge from the night,
They escape the gloomy room,
Hoping to find expression in the light,
Desiring to awaken and bloom.
Dreams trapped in a box don’t tell a story,
They don’t sing a song,
They can never reach the heights of glory;
In the veiled, they belong.
The beauty of diversity lies in varied aspirations,
Time-bound and moving like ticking clocks,
Heralding blossoming inspirations,
But how do we hope when they lie in a box?
Dreams are like birds eager to see the bright sky;
Like blooming flowers, when kept in a box, they eventually die.
Third Place Podium Finish in Poetry Soup Contest
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