Some picture

I pick shards,
Those elements of art,
Each bearing a part,
Of thy beautiful picture.
My allusion,
To this yet nondescript picture,
As cliched as it could be,
Will serve its cause,
Someday in the future,
Or die as an ineffective attempt,
At conveying what I never intend to.
Reeking of inept rhyme,
And the absence of reason,
I am straying from the point,
Where I intended to start.

The pieces that I gathered,
Aligning them was no herculean job,
Despite those missing shards.
My eyes saw exquisite images,
In all combinations and permutations.
Bewitched as they were,
Pitiable eyes those.
The spell decayed,
The picture didn't.

The picture,
Still deficient,
And exquisite.
My eyes,
Mine now,
Yet possessed,
Not by your spell,
But the picture they created.

Oh Dear!
My eyes once conjured up,
The entire picture,
The missing pieces!
Diabolic eyes,
A diabolic image.

Put the spell back,
And lose those pieces,
That you withheld.
My eyes shall wallow,
In blissful gaiety.

Dreams

How often is that one gets to realise his dreams? I have always realised mine.It could be so that my dreams are very tangible that I realised them until now. I am gifted with the unique ability of not being able to tell my dreams from reality. I live my reality in dreams and the dreams in reality. Not that my present dreams are farfetched. But, for the first time I am facing a situation where my dreams are sneaking out. I am not able to put into words what has blown up in my face. My face is pretty contorted, so is my mind. More to come, needless to say.