Dream House
The dream house awaits, one without rent,
Once this life is over, all your days spent
Waiting for this job, or that promotion.
How does one ever get through this notion?
Of these dream houses that are just out of reach,
It wonât ever come true, they all beseech.
And yet somehow one always feels
Of living there while the city reels
Across the high walls as your patch of green grass
Withers while you count your years away at last. Â
Is this what is to become of my dreams?
Clad in those unstitched white seams
As I return to my village a last time; the home we had
Left in search of the big city that was mad
With energy, with life, with a better tomorrow,
Left us with nought but our long lost sorrow
And nothing else, as the dream house drifts further away
Into the distance, while in the big city I stay
And age to dust inside my block of concrete,
Too timid to finally accept defeat.
In a distant future when they come for my body:
Rotting, forgotten, lonely lost in dreams gaudy.
As I'm expelled from this city, this illusory Versailles
Carried on my back, in Dadaâs charpai.
And laid to rest from whence I came
With no gold, no success, nothing to my name
Except that block of concrete which I hated
Which Baba had rented, as was he fated
To pass on to me this burden, this concrete roof
Which is what remains as the final proof
Of me having lived in this city once
And having longed for a house in my innocence
As Iâm laid to rest miles away in the family plot
Where the bodies of those are left to rot
Who had dreamt and hoped all day long
Of a dream house so big that it would sing a song
Of a small town boy who had come along
To the big city, away from love
With just emptiness below, above.
Here comes he back to his motherâs nestÂ
In the ground he lays now, forever to rest.
