What is this poem about?
Today’s poem is called Mall Dreams. It is a poem about the very nature of our dreams and why we should care about that. Another poem by Danny from Poetry Plus by Plus Podcast Network.
Mall Dreams by Danny Ballan
Let’s go to the mall and get some dreams—
one day I will grow like you it seems
on that day I’ll buy the moon
that’s dangling from the ceiling
of that big room.
Don’t beat me to it
was it my fault I chose a dream
you could pile up and reach
I couldn’t see beyond my brows
Maybe if I close my eyes
I could see further
I can’t remember anyone say it
It’s not what they tell you
It’s not what they teach.
To go further, I need to stop
to reach higher, I must first drop
to dream bigger
I need to think of something
I cannot shop.
Why Should We Care?
With all that’s happening around us that we have absolutely no control over, why should we care?
The train is already on the move and we have given up trying to prove that we can put a stop to this never-ending journey of pain and suffering we see around us day by day, so why should we care?
Let’s care about the little things. The extra days off we can take milking away every last bit of days off provided to us by our own interpretation of labor law and the untold limit allowed in our jobs before we find ourselves outside the door of the warm secure indoors. We should never venture on the outside where strong wolves are the only ones visibly moving and the lesser sheep are not visible at all. Why can’t we go on an adventure at the expense of no one? Why can’t we just smile without causing tears in the eyes of others? Why should we care? Let’s not care about the big things; let’s just care about the little things.
Let’s care about the next item on our wish shopping list trying to fill the void, but like a big dispenser that never breaks, never gets jammed long enough for us to enjoy what we pay for. Money is getting less and less valuable and the effect of that eternal sleeping pill is fading much faster than it used to. Why should we care? We take what we can, we buy what we can, we go to the end of the road leading nowhere and cower away in the little corners we created for ourselves in this world protecting our little insignificant slices of nothing.
That already sounds so depressing, but why should it be? Haven’t we all vowed to be brutally honest with ourselves. I mean those fake smiles are still undetectable on all social scanners except for that old mirror hanging helplessly on that lone wall, neglected and forgotten, for now there are new masks, new filters, even new eyes we see ourselves with every day. We have an image to maintain, but how the hell did this image find its way to our faces? When did it happen and under how many layers of bullshit does our true face lie?
That already sounds so depressing, but why should we care? We stopped searching inside a long time ago and always a new dream on top of a baby dream and a long line of young babies dead for they were never meant to grow any older before giving way to new dreams and the better ones are the ones dying faster, a painless death for they feel nothing and we feel nothing after fighting like hell to get them, they quickly slip into oblivion, but why should we care? Why should our dreams be original? Why should they be authentic? If anyone can buy your dream and mine, why should we have that dream at all?
I dream of being a man, my own interpretation of being a man; no one can buy me that or take it away with money unless I choose to sell. Why should I have a dream with a tag? Why should I care? Why should you? Maybe, you should not, but as for me I can’t but care for this is who I am. I care about these little things that make me who I am. I am not asking anyone’s permission, as you should not. I don’t judge you if you think I am a fool, but a few words and notes I write every day are worth the world and whatever is worth the world to you, you have my respect for that is who you are. I will never judge that, but if you still can’t figure out what’s worth the world to you, look around for the answer is mostly much closer than you think. It’s in the smile of a friend, a wife, a husband, a child; it’s in that old dusty guitar begging to be picked up once more; it’s in that workshop where most of the tools are about to eaten by rust but not yet; they still want to give you one more shot; it’s everywhere outside that cocoon you call yourself whom you have taken care of all your life. Just look around and you will find it, I promise, and a little hint; it’s like an original dream; it cannot be bought, which makes it more valuable as it cannot be sold; it’s something you feel deep inside like nothing no one has ever told you about. You know it when you see it, when you feel it, just like falling in love when the few reasonable parts of your brain shut down and you take that bumpy ride that turns out to be the ride of your life. Maybe, we’re better off, sometimes, without our reason; maybe we’re better off with only our hearts. You know what I’m talking about; you’ve buried it inside long ago and I’m pretty sure you have a million reasonable excuses why it should there remain six feet underground, but maybe you and I my friend should give our brains a day off and let loose our hearts.
But after all, why should we care? I do; you should, too. For what will be left of our humanity if we do not? When we stop caring, we will lose the last bit that binds us to this troubled race. It is troubled, sick unsettled and anxious, but it is us. We care because that’s who we are. We care because if we do not, who else will?