Monochrome Dreams

Monochrome Dreams, or let’s say, the untainted fantasies we have had, since our childhood.
For some, the dreams came true. For some, it was impossible. Maybe because of the lives, they grew into.
For whatever it is worth, everybody deserves happiness.
Here are 10 people, you cross daily. But, have you looked back twice to see who they actually are?
Photo credits: Ashwasana Panda

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“Showing his back to the night, I worship the sunlight.”

With my hands folded and my eyes closed, I investigate my soul, I call upon my guardian angel and asks him to include me in his presence. It’s my earnestness and not my eloquence; my feeling for it and not my helplessness; the gravity of my soul, calling out for hope and not an occasional impulse. My act of bowing down is fundamental.

I am waiting. Waiting for your spiritual awakening.


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“What you call the dark, to me, is golden.”

Inside me, there is everything I believe, was outside. There is the sun, the light and all the colors. What you see is an element of what you carry inside you and which grows there with as much abundance, variety and intensity as it can, outside us. And, you think that my blindness is an eternal song over the waves in which my reasons have drowned?

I am waiting. Waiting for you, to see my world.


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“You want you, not to walk barefoot; but, my children have no shoes.”

Amidst the soles, lies my soul. I see a wild civility, in a careless shoe string. What I make, is more stood upon than any other thing in the world. I cobble and hammer from morning till dark, with footgear to mend on my knees; stitching patches or pegging on soles, what do you say, is it your cup of tea?

I am waiting. Waiting for you, to walk in my shoes.


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“A wise man’s fear, is our life.”

Being unwanted, unloved, and uncared for, we sit here every morning and watch you choose. The one who pleads, can’t be a selector. But, it is not the food that we are hungry for, just love. It is not water, we are thirsty for, just kindness. We beg for you, we hope in you. Homeless for shelter in your heart, help us lift from this misery.

We are waiting. Waiting to buy our self-esteem, self-respect and will.


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“Will I ever be the customer, known to a shopkeeper?”

From dusk, till dawn, I am surrounded with people. Like a public servant, I am patient enough to take your orders. You order your sleep to disappear, your mouth’s taste to change, for that gulp of cold water on a hot day. But, have you ever ordered for my time? You possess the means of a decent livelihood, while I close the shutter of my shop and sleep inside.

I am waiting. Waiting for my poverty to be complete; lacking me.


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“I have a long lasting love affair with the flavors of my hand.”

For every snack I create, I get your bargain in return. You are ready to pay tips in hotels, but you don’t think twice before asking me for an extra. Sometimes, just sometimes, I sleep hungry at night, with a sense of satisfaction, because I know, I made sure you wouldn’t sleep hungry.

I am waiting. Waiting to exchange your extra with my bargain.


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“I love to leave people at their destination, but I don’t have one?”

My world begins in my vehicle. From the front windshield to the rearview mirror, where it ends. My vehicle unites all, regardless of age, gender, religion, status or background. That to me, is my contentment. I am a mode through which you reach your near and dear ones, while mine, wait at home. Waiting for me, to drive them to the world of their dreams.

I am waiting. Waiting to be a passenger, someday.


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“I made ends meet, to make my ends meet.”

Isn’t it ironical? What goes inside, thick, strong and withstanding, comes out as shredded and broken? That’s how life is. And, it’s even more ironical that what bleeds out of it, what bleeds out of all of my labor, soothes somebody’s thirst. I live for that feeling. I live for turning the wheel and gather the sweetest drink, to refresh, because when I needed it, nobody was there to give it to me.

I am waiting. Waiting to quench my own thirst.


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“I clean the temple and it uplifts me.”

They call me a sweeper. They call my work insignificant. Nobody notices me, in bright daylight. But, when I sweep, I sweep as Michelangelo painted, or Beethoven composed music or Shakespeare wrote poetry. I sweep it so well that all the hosts of heaven, come down to me at night and treat me like a king.

I am waiting. Waiting to be a king, someday.


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“I come here, every day. Before you. For you.”

In your hunger, lies my opportunity. I am willing, always willing to feed you. I am willing, always willing to lend you an ear. I am willing, always willing to be a friend. I am willing, always willing to burn my hands, and provide you with the most flavorful, delectable and appetizing food. I am willing, always willing to compete against the others. Maybe one day, you’ll come to me, not for food, but for my time.

I am waiting. Waiting to be willed for.


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Let’s look at it this way. I am life and the cabbage is me.

Did you hear about the vegetable that grew from the soil? Proving nature’s laws wrong, it learned to walk without having feet. Funny, it seems to grow by keeping its dreams; it learned to breathe fresh air. Long live the legume that grew when no one else even cared and yet, everybody wanted it, when they really needed it.

I am waiting. Waiting to be somebody’s need.


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“There was a time, when I had promised her, she’ll never have to work.”

Do you want to keep your life out of any uneasiness, any misery or any depression; since after all you don’t know what work these conditions are doing inside you? Do you want to persecute yourself with the question of where all this is coming from and where it is going? Since you know, after all, that you are in the midst of transitions and you wished for nothing so much as to change.

We are waiting. Waiting for the time, when our promises shine.


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“Sometimes I sweep, it keeps away my weep.”

We seldom question the purpose of life when our world is sunny and bright. But, we never question who makes the world bright. We never question who picks up everything, we discard and treasures it as the most precious thing in the world. One mustn’t simply help it, to be miserable, to be someone who cleans up after everyone, to be considered as an untouchable, since that is the only way life gets better.

        I am waiting. Waiting to sweep my troubles away.       


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It’s us, who operate the machine. It’s them who earn, from it.”

There are so many, who don’t wish to sleep because of the fear of nightmares. Then there are we, who slog day and night, in sun and storm, in other’s happiness and our despair. They don’t know us, they don’t see us, but their need for us makes us fill our stomach.

We are waiting. Waiting for acknowledgement.


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Sometimes, I wish I was a peanut. Protected and with a partner, in my own shell.”

No one is without troubles, without personal hardships and genuine challenges.  That fact may not be obvious because most people don’t advertise their woes and heartaches.  But nobody, not even the purest heart, escapes life without suffering scars. Peanuts are just those. They are wrinkled, they are hard and they break easily. And yet, what comes out of them can feed someone and make a difference.

I am waiting. Waiting to be reborn.


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And in my bag you can find all kinds of happiness; in my life, just sorrows”

As I was laying my shop, I sat down to open by bags and display the things, I brought to sell. While I collected the items, I collected my thoughts as well. They were quite easy to collect, because there weren’t many of them, and they all concerned the same subject – what a burden my life was. And yet, when they see me, they come rushing, wanting to buy joy.

I am waiting. Waiting for my golden opportunities of joy.

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