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SIXTH SENSE
I felt a drunkard in my fanciful sixth sense.
The pond seemed to me the Sea of Aegean
And the floating leaves warships of Greece,
Thousands in number that fought for Helen.
Now, my mind finds infinite amidst finite
And beholds freedom in a free flying kite,
Discovers beauty in a dazzling little dew,
In metamorphoses of bug seeks life anew.
Slowly, my outer sight sinks in shadow
As the closing eyelids sleep in meadow.
Eyes are closing only to open in insight
As if bathed with celestial divine light.
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