Dream

Lissome Dream

The gentle, lissome dream.
Image by Dimitri Houtteman from Pixabay.

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Beyond bountiful thoughts of today,

Tomorrow and yesterday,

Lies the gentle, lissome dream…

Bright and blissful that scene,

Distant, imaginary if not seen.

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Take two drops, without fail, of zeal,

And Sunshine, keep turning the wheel,

Playing the circus game, yet untamed,

To become the dream you dreamed.

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Why should you keep your Dream Light on forever? Click here to find out.


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Gabbeh

Gabbeh.
[Source – mk2films]
Readying the carpets.
[Source – mk2films]

Let the colours dry, and you,

Who has been waiting, yes you,

Gabbeh, smile, for I will come

Riding my horse, I will come,

To steal the decorated rug

With you inside,

At last, I will make you mine.

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Gabbeh, the 1996 film, is a simple tale of a gipsy girl, her clan and the way their life goes on.

Unfolding beautifully just like an artist painting a canvas, Gabbeh quietly touches the grand questions.

What is the purpose of existence, what is this feeling of love, what makes colours so harmonious, so arresting?

The complexities, the insatiable desires, the mind games, what helps and what hinders, how do we know?

What is to be said, heard and done before death?

The film weaves a beautiful pattern of such thoughts, but subtly, charmingly that one gets truly absorbed in the flow of the story and does not feel staggered or burdened at all.

The story is exceptionally close to reality even though the style of its narration is truly poetic. It is simple and complex, romantic and mystifying, colourful and rough, complete and incomplete.

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Collecting colours.
[Source – mk2films]

Presenting life from a woman’s point of view, talking about the role of a woman in a family, sharing her aspirations and wishes with us, the entire story thus, inherently is full of warmth, colour and calmness, making the love palpable for the viewer.

The best way to describe Gabbeh would be to call it a dream. It is a folk tale, a myth and yet an unembellished raw saga; hazy, vibrant, unreal and real at the same time.

Gabbeh is an experience, a dream that you must see one day.


Gabbeh
Makhmalbaf’s audio-visual poem.
[Source – mk2films]

Written and Directed by Mohsen Makhmalbaf, Gabbeh – Shaghayeh Djodat, Music by – Hossein Alizadeh, Cinematography – Mahmoud Kalari, Edited by – Mohsen Makhmalbaf, Language – Persian.

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Watch the trailer now –

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Learn about colours the gipsy way –


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Trance

Eyes could see that the mind was dreaming, yet it stayed attuned. The soft, glowing place might be the reason. And colours, crayon colours, water colours flowing smoothly. Glory ruled the place.

Such were the wonderfully true sights that my eyes beamed with pleasure. I then was beyond time and space, happy in the present.

Breathing deeply, quietly, I knew it all and I knew nothing. Bliss!

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I woke up and with a quick, strong rush, lively sounds reached me all at once. It was time to live another true dream… it was time to be.

Ah life!

Me-The-Kind

“Attention is the rarest and purest form of generosity.” – Simone Weil

Stone steps lead up to a place I am yet to see. Dealing with the quietness interrupted intermittently by sweet songs of the birds, I continue ahead. My mind usher some unwanted thoughts and force me to dwell on and on and on, until I refuse, pause and take a deep breath. Don’t inquire for I don’t know why I am smiling, but I am and it has opened the collection of happy memories. Beaming face feels like being in an ocean of flowers. I start knitting happy thoughts with the golden thread of dreams and everything seems possible, the world is mine. A castle is constructed, my reign flourishes in seconds and in seconds I see my downfall. When I gather the broken pieces and stand up, I see the stone steps staring at me. No dialogues are exchanged, and I continue ahead.

When I wake up, I don’t think much of this dream. I am already late to rush into my monotonous routine. The running time never bargains while I always find a reason to bargain, but I haven’t cracked a deal even once.

The whole day I critique myself, like a ritual, except when the dream hushes me-the-perfect and me-the-kind takes over.

Black Sparrow

Her eyes… there is fear in her eyes.

It was blurry… but I remember it clearly. Old hands like my mother’s but she wasn’t my mother, then why do I see her? The place is cold and that is how I feel until I look at her, I feel cold and wet as if I didn’t run away from that day’s hard rain. Everything around was cold and wet that day and so was it in my dream. That day when I was strolling in the park I saw a black sparrow… Francis said he would rather be a black sparrow than fight in the war. I saw the black sparrow, and I left the park.

She is sitting on a wheel chair, she is wearing black. Today, when I picked up the burnt paper, I crushed it without knowing why; my hands can still feel the smooth blackness. But she was surrounded by a harsh blackness, she was in the sun, but everything was crude and dull. I hate myself for crushing the burnt paper, I can feel the crude blackness now.

Francis collected stones all the time, he had strange hobbies. Stones he said are beautiful unless we give them a shape. The old lady, someone’s mother, had an image in her eyes; a dull face as if sculpted, and I agreed with Francis that it looked utterly dead. It scares me every time I see the dream.

I am there to help you old lady. Who is it that you are holding in your eyes? What are you whispering? I can’t hear you? She isn’t looking at me Francis, she is looking somewhere else. Francis I can’t see you. I can’t see the black sparrow. I am tied to the dream. I see her eyes Francis… her eyes… there is fear in her eyes.

Dream And Reality

She was sitting and doing nothing. The usual was happening. She wasn’t working and her mind wasn’t stopping.

Oh! All the noise around her irked her. Still, she kept still. In her mind, a slide show was playing time and again.

Images after images; her friends, her family, her dog, the food she loved and her favourite white dress that was still in the shop and the green lawn.

She didn’t stop the slide show, maybe there was a switch to it or maybe not.

This happened with her a lot and so she didn’t bother about it anymore. At that moment, her mind got overpowered by an image and she observed it.

The image showed a pond with many dry leaves floating in it. Green colour was prominent; green trees, green sky, green earth and green water.

Finally, she was with her mind. She touched the green water and saw the ripples with love in her eyes. When the ripples disappeared, she saw her face in the green water.

Without wasting much time she immersed herself in the water. It was soothing. She saw a sea of pink flowers and tried to get hold of one.

In less than a second she was in that sea of pink flowers. She wasn’t swimming, but the pink flowers were taking her along. She accepted them.

What seemed like infinity to her passed and she saw a white light coming through the pink flowers. The sea of pink flowers started disappearing while she stared at the white light.

She had to swim herself now. She was slow as the white light faded away and she couldn’t reach it. She was swimming on the same spot in an ocean of black space.

She felt as if she was dangling there when suddenly a strong thud woke her up.

Same seat, same table and some more files welcomed her back. She looked around and saw that no one had noticed her.

Life was the same.

Sea of pink lotuses.
Image by CryptoSkylark from Pixabay

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The Run

The trouble was near
And I could hear
Songs and shouts like
An old leaked mike
The dance of the dead
A wobbly white head
Smiling bones hanging high
Not at all shy
Revels without a reason
‘It is our season’
They looked at me
The key lost me
I turned to run
Spot running isn’t fun
Funny dream I left
Lights on, I slept