Dreams and Dream Catchers

Palpable minutes of reality that translate into hours,
nay, an eternity in the cradle of my mind
Ricocheting off the walls in my head, interweaving and dissecting,
adding to the chaos and leaving me in a frenzy
of sweat and tears. I know not
where the tears end and the sweat begins.
Arms and legs flailing around in a pool of
perspiration, borne of memories and moments,
those that stealthily wait for perfect junctures to cause mayhem
in the minds of the unsuspecting.
The past eroding the peace of the present, and at other times
lulling me gently to sleep, luring me into an
ephemeral tranquility, under the pretense of
accomplished aspirations and satisfied longings.
Dreams and nightmares they say. A double-edged sword
slicing through the skin of my reflections.
Sweet lies, and traumatic tribulations, feeding on the
remnants of peace. Inexplicable forces pull the strings and
call the shots; the unfettered mind dances along. Loss and pain
take turns to unleash the beast within, as a chill runs down my
spine and I attempt in vain to run from myself.
The danger misses me by a hair’s breadth, only to keep me
in flight, in fear, desperate for an escape. The dream ends,
so does my blue funk. A short respite before the cycle resumes.

The shield. Hanging from a nail on the wall,
A kaleidoscope of hues and patterns. Willow hoops and sinew,
beads and feathers, woven into a web, spun of hopes and trials,
sweet dreams and not so sweet dreams,
rests the dream catcher, attempting to arrest my restless mind.
Precariously dancing along its edges, the dreams in all their splendor,
threaten to plummet and crash down onto me.
But the sandbagging web holds its ground. The strings
and threads bind them tight, and handpick a dream so sweet
and subtle, that I am put into a light trance at once.
A peck on the cheek, a hug here, a caress there,
victories and laurels, medals and shields,
Sun-kissed mornings, gentle nights, a colosseum of blessings
cocooned in my mind, singing a familiar old lullaby to
my fidgety thoughts and putting me to sleep.
But then what. Dawn arrives, the world awakes and
I wake up from the clutches of my imagination, into living nightmares.
And life floods with terrors and tensions too real to halt,
too punishing to bear; the strands come undone.
Is it the hours of haggling with the shopkeeper that
quashed the effectiveness of the dreamcatcher? Is it the
hundred bucks I got to keep, that cost me my peace of mind?

The dream catcher, caught in the storm travelling the
length and breadth of my world, ruptures and ceases to be.
Rendering me helpless. And all that remains is a
picturesque mess that was once a fortress mesh.
Dream catchers have expiration dates, dreams do not.

— Nanda Sindhu-Vinod