My dreams
were never in big sunglasses
walking in Gucci high heels
on the streets of LA or New York
with a Prada on my hand
and red wine at evening “high”-teas
while I sneak in some rum for
lonely midnights
fame and beauty, adventure and life
My dreams were etched in charcoal
and chalk and broken cupboards
overflowing with books
while I sit among them in my dress
from the nineties, snug yet comfortable
from the many generations who wore it
some pickles on a plate on the floor
and ink on my nose
a heritage of my brimming notebook,

walking barefoot on green grass
and dancing among trees in
rain and when its windy
people watching, while having coffee
from that road-ride dhaba
and dosa’s from my fav dosawala
evening outs with my sister
on the back of my scooty
laughing at our foolhardiness
and anyone that we could not understand
bringing food home to mom and dad
and cakes to my grandmother just
to see her smiling like I made her day
My dreams are never that picture of me
living in the most expensive house
outside of town
no, it was staying in an apartment
where my roommates are my friends
and we spend the whole time
complaining about our shitty lives
but managed to make it seem fine
Or maybe that house with my family
which somehow has a big library
but also that big tree in the garden
we used to have
and loads of sand where I used to build
caves and kept earthworms
pretending they were snakes
and a neighborhood who were filled
with grandma’s and grandpa’s who saw
me as their doll
Conquering the world
was never an agenda,
for who wants the world
when you have everything you need?
dreams were always fantasy
and i hoped that i live
to see some magic.
A love that swept me away,
a poem that made me swoon,
a storm that flew me to
a speech that made me
change the world,
and a weird little hidden