I dreamed a dream…

I’m not one to speak on my dreams, out loud for others to hear, to weigh in on and I guess shoot down. I have a very real fear of being laughed at for the things I want to accomplish, because I live in a world that doesn’t favour dreams.

I live in a world where dreams are currency; traded away for comfort and survival.

I live in a world where dreams don’t survive; they don’t see the light of day and are most likely to haunt you than inspire you.

So for the longest time, I remained silent.

I allowed my dreams to stew, bake and bubble and to some extent ferment.

I was afraid.

If nobody knew what I wanted, what I dreamed of, then nobody could recognise my failures. To speak it is to give it power; power to inspire you or power to break you, I wasn’t going to be broken. I’ve stood by and watched family members use dreams to crush someone’s spirit, and I was never going to become one of those people.

So I remained silent.

I allowed my secret dreams to be my own, I didn’t share them with a soul (maybe one or two), but I spoke very little of them.

I remained afraid.

But that’s not entirely true; I revealed them to hundreds, paraded them before gatekeepers and prayed they were enough, that I was enough.

Time and again I was proven right; my dreams were broken, battered, shot down, ignored and thrown aside, but I kept them. Sometimes I feel like they’re a delusion, an insistent poison that won’t stop until I’ve broken.

Sometimes I feel like there’s more to them. For them to have survived so long, to have grown and strengthened can only mean they’re worth something.

So I’ll keep them, I’ll commit them to flesh and have them dance in the light in the hope that someone will favour them and honour them.

I won’t be afraid anymore.


I would live in the wind


I would live in the wind.

If I could, I would dance among the love songs that twist languorously in the breezy spring air. I’d inhale the soft lullabies of love and drink in the sweet caresses of affection that ripple through the ether.

If I could, I would catch the unheard “I love you”, the swept away “hold me” and deliver them back along the slipstream of summery scents that mingle in the atmosphere.

If I could, I would chase away the screams, burn away the cries and exorcise the vile, vindictive whispers of war that stain the zephyr, that live in the chill of winter.

I would travel over the earth’s integument, riding on the tides of nature’s breath while I lived amongst stolen tales, borrowed breaths and unheard thoughts.


My limbs would inhabit the unseen plane, the forgotten element and I would be free. My shackles would wither away and my bones would take to the sky. My ears would be trained to the sun and my skin would drink in the scorching, warm glory of content.

If I could live in the wind, I would witness the unspoken atrocities that go unseen, I would dodge bombs, missiles, daggers and bullets trained on the homes of brothers and sisters, mothers and fathers.

If I could, I too would remain unseen. I too would choose to not be heard unless I howl in anguish at the pain neighbours cause one another. I too would anonymously whisper sweet nothings to shy lovers and I too would sweep nations when rebuilding is the only way forward, the only way towards freedom.


If I could, I would catch prayers and blow them to the heavens myself. I would roar while dreams shatter and I too would slink deep into the night, keeping a watchful eye over a momentarily peaceful world.

If I could live in the wind, I would be happy.