The poet reiterates the past is a dream.
Our body being of the past is but a dream
A mere dream in somebody else’s dream.
His dream was part of my dream, being
The grand dream of the cosmic scheme.
I have come to know the past did not exist
But I merely seemed to have dreamed it.
We are such stuff our dreams are made of
Not just in the bard’s sense or in spirit-talk.
Our dreams are so much inter-connected.
When spirits talk ,bodies vanish like spirits.
Our bodies disappear in chloroform smell
On the table under a green cloth of scalpel.
Some times they just disappear in clay-pots
Into flowing rivers, melting snow-mountains.
Our spirits are mere words, some tautology.
Our bodies do not exist except in dreams.
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