The jar of dreams

Once I sat by my window watching the passers-by.

On the road, her presence made clear with each step the metallic shoes greeted the street with.

She had a brown bundle tied to her back.

Her brown copper hair, braided to her right side, refused to blend in with her colourful blue and green dress that flowed.

She was new, unlike the attention she attracted.

Her smile said she had been expecting this.

I abandoned my home and followed her.

I watched her take out all that her brown bundle beheld unto a mat on the floor of the town square.

There was a jar.

A transparent one that called for mine attention as well as the others too.

The jar filled with rolled papers.

She said it was made for the people who chose to dream. Each rolled coloured paper a dream.

Everyone went for the yellows.

I chose that too.

But it itched, the moment it grazed my hands.

I switched it to my pockets, and it poked.

I found it do no such thing with the others.

I asked her why and she said to change it.

I refused.

For it was what almost everyone had.

No one seemed to complain.

They were all so content, but me.

Then my roll began to fade and fall apart, for which I fixed.

I took it to the best, and they did their best.

I held on, and yet it seemed it was not mine to have.

It crumbled.

So, I asked her why?

She said, “you have a whole jar there, choose another”

She told me the dotted blue roll which none seemed to like could be mine if I chose it.

I listened.

The minute I touched the dotted blue roll, I knew it was mine.

It felt so soft and so at home in my palms.

It brought me to a smile no one could take away.


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Author: Nana Kesewaa

I am a Ghanaian born in Tamale. This blog is filled up with thoughts on life situations and rantings. I live in Germany. I like to jog, eat food, make music and obviously write.

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