I paint a wonderful world with thespian words,
Claim it my magnum opus,
With eclectic thoughts and vehement hands,
Anticipate its mere existence.
I look for it in this vacuous earth,
With eyes and ears imploring,
In the gaze of the streets, in the talk of town,
Only to be left deluded.
Utopia with freedom and space to ponder,
No rules, no walls for the mind to wander,
No fear for the “what will people tell,”
No tears, for judgement, ever shed.
Utopia with azure skies and eloquent minds,
So foreign, alien, and uncharted.
Where creativity lures minds into action,
With times anew and people indifferent.
Every now and then the streets expand,
A little open, a little accepting,
A sigh of relief and breathe of joy,
But only momentary, only interim.
In the vivid colours of dusk and dawn,
In the rustle of books and the chill of a pen,
I find traces of my magnum opus, my utopia,
And settle for what I spare to have, euphoric.
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