The mind wakes in the morn
Greeting the day that is born
With countless thoughts surging,
Like waves on the shore raging.

It’s a scene of buzzing activity,
A site of wonderful creativity,
Churning out apt answers
That find right action transfers.

All the bustle comes to a close
When the body lies down to repose.
The mind calls it a day
And shuts all thoughts away.

An odd thing then happens,
A secret screen soon opens-
A midsummer night’s dream comes to view:
Acts and scenes are bizarre and quiet new.

When the conscious mind goes to sleep
Its freakish twin lying down deep
Pops up with impish vigour,
Begins virtual thoughts to trigger.

Both sweet dreams and scary nightmares
Are bodings- a faith the gullible shares
With millions across the globe
Over ages- interesting to probe.

Even if wives of Ceasars feared,
Heroes have trod on undeterred.
As superstitious holds dreams persist
Which the prudent strain hard to resist.

Though a subject to be pooh-poohed,
With perverse piety is it often wooed.
Mountains of molehills people make,
Pride of place Freudian theories take.

Dreams are worth not a thought,
Dissections of psyche they deserve not.
To the conscious mind remain geared;
The subconscious mind is best ignored.