Some dreams never come true, and most of the times, it’s not a very bad thing. The lying dreams with unfulfilling thirst are like an orchestra, ever banging at the canvas of one’s subconscious. The music flowing in the brain, once touching the platform of mind, becomes poetry. I do not dim myself fit to be a poet, rather. I am the poem itself, created by ultimate poet of all. The ironic dreams and spiritual fluctuations were poured into the domain of words.
The result-
While Flying in the Dark.
