Born to Dream
I gaze above, afar
Searching for my North Star
Seeking beyond desire’s reach,
I was born to dream
Gawking at the gutters and greed around me
Binds me to the grim and grimy
Raising my sights to divinity, beauty, flight
Sets my true aspirations alight
I work, I eat, I sleep
I function on a daily routine
Yet in heart and mind, I can transcend
Traverse a higher realm
A realm of purpose, discovery
Of who I am and who I choose to be
Where love, grace, purity
Surpass abstract theory
To be the essence of my being
Society, of course, is not conducive to dreaming
Idealising is idling
Time is money, money success
Rarely accrue in pounds and pence
And yet, don’t social revolutions, world peace,
Depend on dreamers with lofty ideals?
The vision, courage, tenacity
To see a better world and make it a reality?
Without idealists, dreamers
Who would be the Mandelas, Mother Theresas?
Who would fight American hegemony,
Israeli apartheid, Saudi bigotry
Or even the vice within oneself or community?
Who would champion the plight
Of those stripped of their basic rights?
Would anyone really care
To save the victims of poverty, ignorance, despair?
I return to myself; I ask candidly
Dreamer, scrooge, cynic – who will I be?
Will I look beyond self-interest
To realise a more compassionate self,
Or will I eventually die
With shrivelled heart and cold eyes
Complicit in perpetuating
The pain of the wretched and deprived?