Some dreams, just stay dreams.

Some dreams, just stay dreams.

Not every girl with a racket,
And a wild imagination of
Playing fearlessly in front of millions,
Can turn into Serena Williams.

Not every boy with a quill
And parched paper,
With an affinity that is rare
Can become William Shakespeare.

Sometimes dreams turn into crushed paper balls on your floor,
Into mindless splashing of paint on the canvas,
Into the endless playlists you made,
Into the drawings on the walls that fade,
Into the doodlings on the back of your notebook,
Into insignificant scraping on wood tables,
Into forgotten records without labels.

They morph into financial limitations you couldn’t amend,
They morph into a midnight chai-story with your friends.

Some dreams take the form of school essays when you’re young and naughty,
Some dreams take the form of important lessons you give to your child when you’re forty.

Because,
The entire existence is destined
For those who dream,
But not all dreams,
Turn into existential realities.

Some dreams, just stay dreams.