A Red Dream
An old man had a dream at night,
A dazzling picture, shocking to sight.
There were colours bright and shades dark,
But bloody red dominated them all.
Starving black and cold blue,
A tinge of purple and greenish too.
His own sons were fighting afar,
On road that led to temple and mosque.
Youngsters were tearing the book of law,
Studies had been set at naught.
Some burnt flag and constitution,
As if they got licence for rowdyism.
Then he saw a green landscape,
A smile played on his lips soon to fade.
His smiling visage lost its glow,
When he saw a skeleton at plough.
He saw some industries afar,
Smoke was coming out of them all.
But smoke contained red vapours in it,
The old man could not bear all this.
He shook himself to shatter the dream,
To efface the memory of that scene.
He woke up though a bit disturbed,
And moved to his goal that lay ahead.
Gradually he regained his real Self,
Realizing within him the Sole Subject.
The dot of Now was in flux for Eternity;
Ages past and ahead were all momentary.
It was his own Self throbbing everywhere;
The veil that had divided soon disappeared.
