It is late at night and maybe the early morning
that birds of Self awaken, and sing.
The dreamscape, be it sweet or sullen,
pervades the quasi-sleeping mind
in its most potent form
with rhythmic, tribal beats;
a rainbow of perception, of sound.
and the conscious state of waking
the mind is wiped of its waking indigence
and a new freedom kicks in.
It is a world not before visited;
euphoric, like earth’s fruit,
it makes the mind dance on pillows, with no shoes.
At first, there is no control
and the dream-state roams untamed;
but later on, with training of the mind,
one can fly and bound in lucidity
and sing as they please.
There are no boundaries in the dreamscape,
it is an ultimate fantasy world of which you are the grand creator;
the megalomaniac at the wheel,
dangerous, but immortal like the snake
eating its own tail.