INDIGO
or – sometimes verses are simply not enough.
"The poorest of all people is the one who has no dreams."
— Zig Ziglar
Perhaps from dreams,
perhaps from the deepest wishes and the unutterable longing we build castles in the air – worlds overflowing with immeasurable beauty, and with the most dreadful horrors by which we flee from reality.
In the duality –
of who we are here and elsewhere, in that elsewhere where love is deeper, where pain has a cure, where perhaps we will not be quite so alone.
And in a silent, unhearable melody reflects every heartbeat woven into the web of our own illusions.
But what is more real than that which we most deeply desire?
In the shades of the deepest indigo,
in the half-sleep of waking,
perhaps with the flutter of a many-colored butterfly whose wings unleash the fiercest storm unstoppable,
there we are, at last, ourselves.
Day after day time flows in this material existence, which shall pass away.
But that does not matter.
For what is reality to us?
Only a cage where they locked a hummingbird.
Author: Veron
