The dancer and his dance.

A convulsively distorted face gazed at him,
The two terrible eyes fixed straight upon his own.
With momentary wonder, he thought,
Is this a guardian or ghost?
He couldn't tell.


He tried to scream,
To find the voice within;
But there was only silence.
He is asleep today, but knows,
He will become awakened tomorrow.
And, this is but a dream...

In this dream, he began to dance...
that eternal dance between the mundane and the extraordinary. 

How can one know the dancer from the dance?
Oh! They are so hopelessly intertwined.


Jan 14, 2014

PS: The last paragraph is a tribute to W B Yeats. I read his poem Among school children and couldn't get his last line out of my mind.