• The Hierarchy goes on and on,
    First comes logic and abstract alone,
    Then mind stretches it down to practice,
    A theoretical approach comes down to ground.

    That is when the eye opens,
    And imagination starts knocking at the door,
    Mind breaches the gate,
    And possibilities flood its floor,
    Only to be discarded one by one,
    From horizons and cause,
    And thus from consequence.

    Once reached one’s individual truth,
    Proceeds go to the hands of the capable –
    They hope to put it to good use,
    Such is Science, anyway.

    And so, it approaches society,
    Healing and mending trouble,
    Making a life out of life,
    Revolutionizing worlds and wonders,
    Cause there’s no miracles for the thinking;
    And no pity for the unthinking.
    Ah, but a greater puzzle arises.

    Nervous neurotic impulses,
    The Eden’s Garden,
    An imaginary paradise,
    Gates open.

    There miracles do really happen -
    Ironic, as thinking is all that is done there.
    And the intangible purple branches of bushes -
    Electrical in all their splendor.
    Abruptly, they rearrange in mazes of grey and mystery,
    To let people get lost in their narrow corridors of sense
    And nonsense.

    As much as we explore
    All we see is complex waves and harmonics,
    Dim amidst all these harmonies,
    Resonant, what, in the middle of all that flashy cacophony.

    The shadows cast behind – wild Nightmares,
    Or clumps of candy cotton – delicious dreams,
    Logarithms and insane rhythms – the path,
    And the screaming of victims – us and us only.
    What is the truth?
    The truth is that we can’t understand ourselves,
    And ourselves cannot perceive the truth.

    Cause skeptical endless cycles
    Make us turn back and run forward
    All that, simultaneously.
    And we still don’t Know.
    ‘Cause There’s no Ledge to climb down from it.

    But we need to keep ourselves alive and breathing,
    And we hold on tight!
    It’s okay if this rolling carpet will drag us around,
    We’ll find a way to make it slow down,
    As the door to Right shows up,
    Its image clearer as we persist on searching
    For the unreachable.

    Origins are unexplainable so far –
    Had we originated earlier or later,
    Would it all be the same?
    Would we think in the same manner?
    Would we feel the same way?
    Would there be a would in every game we play?
    A Dream inside a dream inside another.