People come and go in our lives, way more often than we think.
Yet on those days when some people creep back into your mind, you’ll know they were never meant to leave your life. They wouldn’t stay in your life physically; they wouldn’t even speak with you again. But they’ll walk into your dreams; they’ll appear as faces in the dark; they’ll hold a corner of your heart. And that’s when you know, they matter.
In the wee hours of the day, I think of a poem “The Dream”, and realised that it has been 2 days past the birth of one of my preferred poets – Edgar Allan Poe (19 Jan 1809 – 7 Oct 1849).
They call it “unrealistic”, “escapism”, “impractical”. But sometimes, people hold on to dreams because it is the only source of light in a world of darkness that envelopes them. Where confusion and pain befalls reality, peace and hope is offered in dreams. The believer does not mistake a dream for reality; rather, he dreams of a more satisfying life that he never had, He holds on dearly to a strain of the past, bringing with him into present day, what was beautiful and which mattered. Dreams are a recollection of the past, but also stand as an alternate land where one visits, to relive more pleasant days. But like a double-edged sword, while we hold on to beliefs that society criticizes, in dreams we realise the pains of being awake.
In visions of the dark night
I have dreamed of joy departed-
But a waking dream of life and light
Hath left me broken-hearted.
Ah! what is not a dream by day
To him whose eyes are cast
On things around him with a ray
Turned back upon the past?
That holy dream- that holy dream,
While all the world were chiding,
Hath cheered me as a lovely beam
A lonely spirit guiding.
What though that light, thro’ storm and night,
So trembled from afar-
What could there be more purely bright
In Truth’s day-star?
Poe’s works never fail to emphasize on his dark wishes to return to days in history; his awareness of the world’s disdain towards his by behaviour, but which his acknowledgement for it’s necessity in sustaining his existence. I continue to stand in appreciation of the works of this mistaken talent. Edgar Allan Poe.