Dreamt

Typing this feels more like there's a voice calling through me rather than from me. It feels really weird, like I am simply writing down what is directed to me rather than what I am thinking. I guess I know how the apostles felt when the word of God went through their bodies.

Weirdest dream ever, was back in high school days, and it was music lesson, more like exam for music lesson. We had to each select  a song that we liked and sing it and we would be scored accordingly.
I remember thinking in my head, but that would be unfair to those who can't sing properly or don't have a good voice. Well, too late, we have already begun moving the chairs around so that we said according to the class number assigned to us.

For some reason, Simon, my best mate, was sitting to the right of me and he sang some corny love song dedicated to his girlfriend. And we all cheered, despite expecting the obvious.

When it was my turn, I hesitated for a while, uncertain of what I was going to sing, unprepared for the occasion. And then I said, 'This song is dedicated to my generation and I hope future generations will not have to sing it anymore'.

There was even a screen that got pulled up at the blackboard and a youtube website was on stand by. But there was a delay in the prologue of the song, so I began with improvisation. Lengthening the words sung so that the lyrics could appear on the screen so that my fellow man could sing along with me.

As I prolonged each word to delay the entry of the song being played on screen, I really had to sing till I was out of breathe for each sentence. And that made my lungs collapse, my body shaking, each in take of air overwhelmed and tearful because my body was pushed to the limit.

I can remember myself singing and crying in the dream.

Imagine there's no heaven, not a thing to worry*
Imagine all the people, nobody dying
Imagine all the children, without any hunger

And then came the real thing, the whole class singing in unison, there would be instances where a student with musical talents would rise above the surface of the masses and perform in his particular gifted way. In the organised classroom of desk and chairs, there was a rising and falling of people taking their turn to lead the crowd to sing the way the music moved them. Improvisation and order, order and improvisation, constant was the shift.

As I sit here, 7.33am in the morning, reaching my arms into the depths of the receding dream, I try but fail to recall how the song came to an end.

Perhaps we are still singing it.
Yes, we are singing it.
I can hear the echoes from a dream.

*the lyrics were changed as I sang, because I knew the anticipation in the crowd and did not want them to repeat what they heard only seconds before.