The door in the attic is peculiar Sometimes I am lucky enough to find it cold And I will stumble inside and fall Far away from here It's like a dream, a new life You must look around and above you And then you will see it Above, up there, high, far away There it was, I saw the hole Through my fluttering eyelids it was always grey But when I say so Mother starts to weep uncontrollably From here I can only sit and watch and ponder Where it starts and where it ends And if there is a castle of wonder I'd like to see it one day Even if I am old and empty And I have lived forever Even if I am all bones and dust and dead But I'm still alive and my pulse is fascinating I stand up and run, maybe if I run fast enough I will start to fly Yet all that comes of it is a dizzy heart and burning eyes Sometimes, the Big Grey will ask me, "What are you searching for?" I don't know yet, I just want to see past the shadow What is it like, where dreams are told, Where dreams are sold? On the days that she sits me down And tells me what's real and what's not real I wish I could give Mother a dream too Because the lines on her face make her look so tired And that's when they start fluttering again Open. Close. Open. Close. Open. Close. Open. When will I know what dreams are like?
Out of the blue, she blurted out, "Peculiar stuff, I want to assert" I had no guess what was her find. (More like many a times one sees onself in turns of life, unexpected, I presumed) "Oh! is it? tell me all about it " I enthused, And woke up at the very same moment in to a dream, of different kind, half progressed, There was no trace of a 'her' in this dream I wormed in!
What is 'real' what is 'imagined'? Where ends the 'real' we imagine. And what we think dream starts?