THE EXACT

 Dreams come like roses, With every petal curl transiting the folds of the dreams, With soundproof yet noise of accoustic guitar strings screams, Like the thrones testing the patience of the dreamer to restrain within, And find a dream within a dream of adverse from the opening dream, With lingering smell as a tetinomials of its encounter with rain of thoughts, And how it engulf the black and white weather of dream with its charm and dotted dots.

A bird was knocking on my door, Maybe at 3.30 a.m in the morning, I tried hard to sleep and ignore, But when it tried to look into the room Through the glass window I become unsure, Beside the window there were copper cups, Filled with sound with a jar of copper, The window was air tight, And the lock could be opened with the air If strong, dense and breezy in the core, The bird started chattering outside the glass window, The noise was loud and immature, I am not sure but as the bird spread its wings To fly and flutter, a strong wind appeared Inside pushing the window Dismantling the cup and jar, pure, All the sound in the cup and jar spilled on the floor, The bird flew away and I opened my eyes from my dream, Witnessing the opened window, Cups, jar, spilled sound on the floor with the roar, All was reality. But when it happened in azure, The only dream was that my eyes were closed!