Mind of My Mind

Now the dawn awakes

in purple splendour,

a drunken mist 
on dancing feet.

In celebration swing

those branching eyes,

to golden hymns

and yawning skies.

While a sleeping

blurry ignorance,

insists I disturb,

the waters of no reflections,

with my thoughts

wet in the salt 
of misconceptions,

that refuse to awaken.

— Be quiet. He yelled to the mind of his mind. Angry at the faces within. Hear.

Speaking, he lays the mine before those feet. His face smiles, the wrinkles disappear. The stress of epochs soften into the now.

Clouds swirl in mirth; the jungle laughing in the winds; witnesses

— silently.
The final conch blows. And then; a loud thundering boom echoes through the throat. The loudest sound of them all and the brightly lit dawn is engulfed.

Eyes close.

Red awakening.

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