Nupur Chaturvedi

Infantile dreams, divorced from logic,
Create pink water to sprinkle over magic dust,
Which turns serpents into gods,
And they play merry games
Making people turn their heads unnaturally.
Who poured these dreams into the receptacle of my brain?
Is this the effect of a hallucinogenic drug
Or the schizophrenic meanderings of a tired mind?
Maybe such fantastic conjurations are reasonable,
Maybe we are meant to imagine that which is so implausible
So that we can slowly inch away from reality
And create a better world
Won’t it help you sleep better at night
If you know that when you wake up,
The altered surroundings are whiter, cleaner?
I am soporose now, bring me my pillow.