The Dream Robbers

The Dream Robbers

I’ve been looking for something but it’s been very hard to find. It  seems more rarely occurring in nature than precious gems  and it’s proved to be the most daunting task to assume. My question is simply: why? When I was a child, my younger sister and I played in the fanciful world of imaginary friends. It was such satisfying play that I find myself now yearning to behold. Imagination; the creative driving force which revives our restless aging minds. Yes I do wish that I could run into someone with wild imagination who tells me about their daring dreams and how they aim to realize them. Since I have not  met this person till this day, I officially announce that I shall seek a different path and look for those dreamers among children and I am positive that I will run into many along my way. Children are small-sized philosophers who give a person  insight into the creation of human beings. Their repetitive and demanding questions may very well be asked by mature adults if they only put their mental faculty to use. Need an example? Here’s a bunch full: “Mom, why did God create us?”; ” Why can’t we go to Heaven if you say it has lots of good things?”; ” Is God bigger than us”; ” Can He see us now?”.    I’m deeply sorry to find that mature adults  have lapsed where children have succeeded. Undermining this great magical tool we possess makes adults boring, don’t you agree? I can still remember bragging to a friend at school in first grade about my white unicorn which my father got me and how I flew high in the sky on its back. I can grasp memoirs dating to more than twenty years where I explored the woods overlooking the apartment building compound in Huntington, West Virginia in search of my favorite cartoon characters. It never hurt me, but  rather enlightened my mind and gave me something to write about. I’m  still struggling to retain all the things I  cherish, yet they seem so distant sometimes. I can still remember  back in West Virginia when I lavished in buying the sealed pack of paper and sat back in the auditorium to write whatever I wished to. Recess time was long, and many times I’d spend it in the library to be alone where my overflow of thoughts was put to paper. Babysitting hours were not spent in vain. Aside from the popsicles I was freely allowed to consume from my generous employer, I usually sat after putting the child to sleep and wrote short poetry. This relieved  me abundantly and my teachers encouraged me a lot. In Gaza, I do realize that I’m on a lonely mission,  obstructed with many obstacles; and above all being isolated by the inhumane,  unlawful siege. This however, shall not defeat me. If the siege has restricted our movement and isolated us from the outside world, our minds will be free. If Hell exists at the one and only Border we are permitted to travel through, then I shall grab its  fireballs and use it to fuel my writing. So let this message be clear to all dream robbers: Bear witness that we are  fully determined and resolved to make it through the dark jungle of the Siege to  the last breath.  

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