Dreams in various colours emerge from the night, They escape the gloomy room, Hoping to find expression in the light, Desiring to awaken and bloom. Dreams trapped in a box don’t tell a story, They don’t sing a song, They can never reach the heights of glory; In the veiled, they belong. The beauty of diversity lies in varied aspirations, Time-bound and moving like ticking clocks, Heralding blossoming inspirations, But how do we hope when they lie in a box? Dreams are like birds eager to see the bright sky; Like blooming flowers, when kept in a box, they eventually die. Third Place Podium Finish in Poetry Soup Contest