"Our sweetest songs are those that tell our saddest thoughts"
-- P. B. Shelly

She was ambitious.
She was dreamy.
Once she was in her room on a bed.
Over her head a book she kept.
In the realm of darkness
At a time, the dreamy eyes were closed and she slept.

All of a sudden somebody grabbed her around the neck and opened his pistol.
And forced to open her sword inviting her to fight a duel.

She cried out: Open the closed shutter,
Rescue me,
"Is there anybody there”?

In vain were her cries.
She found later
She was in another cabin
Living with a martyr.

Still her cries
And sounds of gunshots are being echoed.
Which only the living pistils of the heavenly world can hear.
And individually they utter: "In a timid voice, 'Open the closed shutter, rescue me, "Is there
anybody there"

Like "Wings of Fire"
Dreams have sounds.
Some dreams are
Pathos. Must I say, lest I forget:
Those sounds have echoes.
and those are far spreading and
shall create volcanos. So, beware.

.    .    .