If a dream breaks, it breaks into two.
You won’t hear the sound of a broken dream
through ears like the sound
of a broken glass on a marble floor.
Like the Chinese cutlery set
kept with utmost care like a showpiece inside
the opaque wardrobe.
It ain’t an affair of fixing edges with adhesive glues,
not an affair of joining ends to make the perfect loop.
If a dream breaks, it breaks into two.
You won’t see it like the cracks
upon your window which tells a whole different story altogether,
neither like the walls after the cheap paint runs out.
It ain’t an affair of slapping colors to hide the cracks,
not an affair of hiding the scars with larger objects kept in front of it.
On certain nights when the sun finally sets
upon the departments of your utmost necessity
and the colors fade into the midnight…
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