World is a dream

We keep yapping about gold of silence.
A silver version is average Adam’s apple

Going up and down ,in indecent haste,
Something of a woman-induced effort

In the garden of mischievous serpents.
Actually ,the world never existed except

In night’s sleep, as somebody’s dream
In the cloth-cradle ,as bundle of sleep,

An electric fan stirred above ,to breeze
A bawling bundle to sleep off dreams.

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