The Dreams That Fell Out of Sleep

Sleep, a vast ocean, with currents untold,
Where islands of fancy in moonlight reside,
A sieve spun of starlight and stories of old,
Through which ethereal visions will glide.
But sometimes, a tremor, a shift in the breeze,
Will loosen a thread, and a fragment will fall,
A dream misplaced, landing silently with ease,
Beyond the soft boundary that cradles us all.

Elara, awake to the hum of the day,
Held a spirit attuned to the whisper unseen.
She noticed the oddness, the curious stray,
The glint of the unusual, vibrant and keen.
A memory, sudden and unbidden, would bloom,
Like a butterfly caught in a gusty street's sway,
A face from the past, escaping the gloom,
A whisper of laughter that faded away.

She learned these were remnants, from slumber's loose hold,
The dreams that had tumbled, and landed near by,
Fragile and fleeting, like stories untold,
Reflecting the landscapes where thoughts often fly.
One morning, an inspiration, so vivid and bright,
Shimmered before her, like dew on a leaf.

A melody drifted, on rays of soft light,
A solution to puzzles that brought her such grief.
This sudden clear knowing, a luminous spark,
Was no thought of her own, yet felt perfectly true,
A piece of a dream that had missed its own mark,
Now seeking completion in daylight anew.
She learned to embrace them, these flashes so clear,

These gifts from the night, unburdened and free,
To hold them like treasures, and banish all fear,
Of the strangeness of visions that simply just be.
Then there were the shadows, in corners concealed,
A flicker of dread, an anxiety's chill.
A forgotten nightmare, abruptly revealed,
A phantom sensation, a moment standing still.

These fallen dark fancies, with edges so frayed,
Lurked like lost creatures, afraid to be found,
The residue sorrow that sleep had betrayed,
Leaving echoes of terrors that silently mound.
Elara approached them with caution and grace,

Recognizing the weight of their sorrowful plight,
She'd whisper of sunlight, of time and of space,
Gently coaxing them back to the realm of the night.
She learned their soft language, of shimmer and shade,
The tremor of memory, the hum of insight,
The icy cold whisper that left her afraid,
Each fallen dream bearing its own unique light,
Or darkness. She gathered them, carefully now,
The lost, wandering fragments of slumbering thought,

With a purpose to guide them, and teach them just how
To return to the haven where they had been caught.
For the memories, she’d hum a soft tune,
A lullaby ancient, familiar and deep,
Until they would flutter beneath the pale moon,
And rejoin the dreamers who continued to sleep.
The bright inspirations, she'd nurture with care,

Transcribing the melodies, sketching the form,
Then release them as art to the wide, open air,
Letting others discover their beauty and charm.
The fears, she would hold in the warmth of her hand,
Speak softly of dawn, and the solace it brings,
Until they would soften, like prints on the sand,

And dissolve in the daylight on invisible wings.
Elara, the keeper of slumbering shards,
The shepherd of visions that drifted astray,
Found joy in this duty, these delicate guards,
Of the fragile mosaics that light up the way.
For dreams, though they vanish with morning's first ray,
Leave echoes and feelings that linger and stay.
And sometimes, when one slips and tumbles to ground,

A waking heart opens, and wonder is found.
In the catching of whispers, the nurturing of gleam,
And the gentle return to the river of dream,
Elara discovered a truth deep and vast,
That even the lost can find solace at last.

- Khushi Kaul