On Dream

After all the living, all must end.
The cold morning grass underneath,
The birds with their heart-bursting songs,
The star-spangled dark skies,
The hidden cricket’ resounding scream,
All must to the mortal senses
Be no more but a fleeting dream.

Poet’s Perspective
Sensory perceptions by adding their color make life attractive. But when the time comes for the colorful dream to end these feelings vanish. When the bubble of life bursts, the air in it and the watery film disappear at the same time. Sensual enjoyment is ephemeral. There is something beyond that which gives lasting happiness and hence is real.


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