We were lost in a Christmas dream together
In a lush green village at the tip of forever
Where paddy fields grew, and wild pollen blew
About in the golden firefly dusk, over the flowers.
There we stood as the church bells tolled.
Dressed up as kings. Patched clothes. Fake sword.
Eyeing balloons and pipes and people as they passed
Feeling hot, but proud in those robes, as they clapped.
Smiles and gazes paraded into the sunset
Without ever throwing a backward glance or a fret.
As the early moon ushered forth the first evening star
Across heaven’s vibrant floor, so high afar.
Throwing lined eyelids wide open, I woke in haste
To look at you, at us, frolicking by that church gate.
Closed them again, hoping high, but in vain.
Yearning to get a glimpse of the faces I had seen.
As fond remembrances from that Christmas day of yore
Lapped gently upon the mind’s weary shore.
Dreams are… I wondered, loving blanks in life’s unfinished rhyme.
Secret debts perhaps, that we never returned to Time.
Amogha is a mystic whose perception of dreams transported me beyond the three dimensional realm of human experience to a wonderful, colorful alternate universe. There I found my indebtedness to time. While reading this poem I was brought back to my own fond memories of childhood Christmas frolicking.
I foresee Amogha will fly even higher like a mighty eagle spreading her wings of imagination wide, inspiring others.