At age three 

I dreamed.

Of lands full of sweets.

Of an endless coloured street,

stretched as far as I could see.

I dreamed of my toys,

that entertained me with their noise.

I dreamed of everything and more.

I dreamed.

 

At age ten,

I heard.

About wondrous lands that decorated the earth.

Of all the plants and birds,

our Mother gave birth to.

I heard about a place 

where the sun would never set.

I heard about numerous landscapes

I thought I would never hear about.

I heard.

 

At age seventeen,

I saw heaven.

One not obtained by confession.

I saw it in the mischievous expressions

my friends and I made during the lessons.

Never wholly vanished,

even as we all sat in detention. 

Loosened shoulders without any boulders.

Mirth-filled eyes locked with mine.

I saw.

 

Now at age twenty-four,

the streets have never looked so bleak.

No sweets are able to erase the bitter taste,

that is left in my mouth by toxic waste.

The lands and animals that left me gasping for air,

Are devoid of that and in the clutches of Death.

When I find myself with spare-time,

I turn to gaze at my friends.

Grief and sorrow twists and bends

what was once a lively blend.

Shoulders tense,

exhaustion weighing down on their heads.

 

And I?

There is nothing left of what made me ‘I’.

What was once a person,

a body filled to the brim with hopes and dreams

tugging at their seems,

now cannot see,

nor hear,

nor dream.

What differentiates me then

from a corpse,

which cannot see,

nor hear,

nor dream?

‘I’ has simply ceased to exist.

I have become a living corpse.

A stark contrast to what I once was,

and once hoped to be,

to see,

to hear.

Left are only the embers of a dream.