'Through the corridor of Dreams'

Scene 1:

Then, she preferred the last row,
uncaring, stone faced; and to let go?
Yeah, it was strange, was it dumb
how our friendship appeared all that numb.
Then, I screamed, shouted at my own soul,
'See, I yelled at you, be NOT so close, to love, your love'

Scene 2:
Dark mystery of someone been killed;
A never ending game of politics,
a corrupt typist; and his wife.
The Savior asked, "where did you choose to hide, and why?"
She happily showed her golden teeth,
and a blank reply.
In a van? He discloses his motive,
to wipe her tears, bring back her life,
Suddenly, the van stops by a sea;
Savior thrown, stabbed by the wife;
a dark mystery leaves behind, of deception.

Scene 3:
Then at the gate, I was informed,
by a close friend in college uniform,
'' HE will be home, today, with bags full of surprise''
How on earth, in disbelief, raced my bike;
A little far, blind; trapped in trance
I heard the shout, someone on my back.
''See there! STOP, it's almost near!''
And, the crash, the sudden blank, Father!

Scene 4:
Deep sleep, undisturbed for hours;
The doorbell rang to break them all;
I rushed in anger and tore apart my door,
I saw Him standing dead and cold.
How I wished he had his stories and reasons
and, why the old guest was long not driven.
I didn't speak; the guest didn't blink
A big pause, pitch silence, and I went back to sleep.
Or let's say, I pretended to, in relief, disbelief and hate.
Chose not to speak, tired, ill, and probably we were long dead.
My Father, yes, he, stayed by my side.
Was I happy ?
Oh, poor, I was swinging up and swinging down as he played,
all those good old poems he would write for me,
my best ever song my mother would sing for me,

And, the End.

Out of the translucent boundaries of dream, as I woke up, wondered
if my stories were real, for a moment, it was all true and near.
Now, should I hate that they never did exist or could they be dear?
A faint reply from within, not so clear,
'I don't know'.

'I don't know, why they've been killed, or deceived

How I wouldn't know, and why ? 

Why would I pretend to have not known the reasons,
and why should I now choose to write?

Why has it never been all real?
Her image, His life, and my love,
and, all the fairy faces that I always see,
'Through the corridor of Dreams', every night.

Nov 6, 2013