The day, the dream

It seems such an irony. Or is life such a paradox.
Not quite long ago, there was a day with a dream
of things quite different in each term
from the day that is and the dream that is
and what is present is that I seek, I choose

A long, beautiful day

Quite a far cry from the absolute din that has become to reflect life, a race amongst the smoky machines queued up to outdo each other on a path with patches of road amonst a lineup of potholes and others amongst the bucolic pastures that are quite a mirage for the urban commoner.

I was yearning for this break. It didnot matter if it was limited to a day. Oh, I loved it! Huge tracts of land with nothing but greenery and husbandry. Canals carrying water that tastes and smells better than anything else. Civilization that realises and respects the importance of privacy and silence. My memory fails me of the last occassion when the day was so long and beautiful.

All it does now is to prod me of a day more similar, perhaps many more