Our Dreams Poem by indira babbellapati

Dreams of the middle class
Get trampled upon
And stomped over
By inevitability of routine lives
Leaving an empty heart
At the end of the day
Small squabbles
Little laughter
Filling at as we slide into
Fresh dreams...
By morning, once again
We kill our dreams or
They die a natural death
The way fog evaporates
At every dawn...
We carry our bruises
Our lamentation at the routine death
Silently within to go about
Yet another day...

Ah, we the middle class!