The sideline view
Of a poet's life.
Topics free falling
In ranks of predictable verse.
Lacking vitality,
Inspirations disperse.

My thoughts wander.
Vibrating to the hum of
Flourescent lights above,
As the cursor blinks
In hypnotic rhythm.
Drawing me into
The pale blank screen
And beyond.

Falling once again
Into daydreams
Of her golden hair glowing
In Autumns waning light.
Hands merged in a gentle grip
Warming the evening chill
With a soft peck of our lips.

Longing in stillness,
Attending in silence,
The cursor, again, must wait
The many pensive stages
In a poet's futile task of
Placing verses on pages.

As I go to sleep
Dreams come knocking
My subconscious mind
In a rendezvous with me
Am I asleep?
The REM phase kicks in
What do I want to view?
I do not have a choice
I am just a spectator
For another movie
Do I know the cast or crew?
Is it a blockbuster or horror movie?
The conclusion is inconclusive
I may not be a protagonist
Maybe a figment of my imagination
Or, a vivid description of my days events
It requires psychoanalysis
My subconscious mind is in control
Why can’t I have control?
It’s not within my control
I am asleep and my mind is awake
Freud wrote extensively about it-
In the ‘Interpretation of Dreams’
But still, outside our realm of understanding
The symbols and motifs can give clue
Ancient cultures have recorded on clay tablets
But we may not be ever sure
Or maybe the soul is guided somewhere
Or it could be our inner desires
Maybe it’s an unknown world
Where we go out to venture
Let there be beautiful dreams
And dreams that inspire

Life cannot be understood on the surface
Take a plunge to the depths of life
That is where the truth can be found
After swimming against all odds