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The Dream

I have a dream that recurs.
A dream where I know I’m dreaming
yet it all feels so real.
I, sitting on a train’s engine.
Not actually the engine,
to be precise.
It is that small hook-like thing
projecting out…or is it my imagination?
I don’t know what it is called.
Perhaps it doesn’t exist.
May be engines of trains
have smooth and rounded fronts.
But it doesn’t matter to a dream,
does it?

The scenes are never the same.
Sometimes it is a field of mustard,
sometimes miles of white sand.
Sometimes I see houses and children
watching me and the train.
Sometimes there are clouds.
Last night, it was a forest
and there was rain.
The train moved against the wind,
against the rain
and the rest of the world.
And I moved against them too.
I always do.
I can’t remember
wanting to reach a destination.
Or wishing to get down.

I have other recurring dreams.
Nightmares.
Reliving memories
that almost killed me.
Creating memories of things
that never happened.

They say antidepressants can give
the desired dreamless sleep.
But I don’t want this one dream to stop.
So, I sleep through the nightmares
waiting for this dream to recur.
And when I wake up
I am ready to face the world.

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