Rose tinted glasses

Seldom I dream with eyes open

But when I do, I dream

Of a house by the hills, where 

lush green mountains gleam

In the rust of a morning sun

I see a ray of light incline

To light up that genial guise

And that half filled glass of wine

I see fingers trying to embrace 

spaces the light had shone 

I see how perfectly it fits in

the script we’d woven and honed

As if eyes were seeking a peek

And skins were waiting to touch

If only this could be enough

For a heart’s awaited nudge 

To be struck by a lightning bolt

(My Cupid’s weapon of choice)

Alas! This was not all, for it

Thought it deserved a voice-

Voice that could gaily sing

Of dreams and truths in sync

While also letting us learn

What life looks like in pink

And unlearn some tough habits

Which in you and I persist

Of suspicion, distrust and doubt-

That the rosey glasses resist

If and when we cross the threshold 

maybe the light would not be bright 

the scenery would be yellow fall, and

no wine glasses to hold the night

This script may not seem lucrative

Perhaps, it is not the ideal

I’ll take it for it’s not a dream, it is 

much more, it’s everything real.