In the land of the mind,
Not of the barren kind,
Is the dreamer’s lair,
Amongst which is creativity the flair.

The terrain isn’t flat,
Maybe in peace or in combat,
But never will it be,
Part of monotony’s conspiracy.

Never are they bored,
Or predictable or uncontrolled,
For one day they may dance with a dragon,
And the next make elixir in a flagon.

Unbounded by time and space,
Above the rat race,
Of trivial things they do not care.,
And of life’s experiences they share.

Poets, philosophers,
Thinkers and inventors.
In the midst of life’s plight,
These dreamers show us true light.

Wisdom’s winding path they walk on,
For which logicians truly yearn,
For which is hidden from the sensible’s sight,
God shows the dreamer with full might.

During the nights, they see the day,
And in the sun, they do make hay.
For their forays into the Soul of World,
Are as simple as the Tablet Emerald.

But listen to your heart, O reader,
For ’tis a matter of great fear.
And the most endangered species today,
Ain’t a tiger or some coloured jay.

The dreamer it is that is most endangered.
Creativity blocked, it is frustrated,
The greatest ones, children of new,
Made to unhealthily use their mental sinew.

By mass-producing factories they are begotten,
And with unvalued knowledge they are sodden,
Anger and desperation filled into them till,
Even reaching the peak they fall from the hill.

Take heed of this plight, O Leaders,
The rulers and the torch-bearers!
This mistake must be set right before,
The wrecks lose sight of the shore.

This genocide is worse than war, my friend,
For buildings will be rebuilt and armour unrend,
But the loss of mind and the scars of thought,
Cannot in any way be unwrought.

Now the poem needs to end,
For my dreams beckon me to mend,
My unhealing scars,
Through god’s gentle showers.