Habitually trusting the people around,
Accepting everything at its face value,
Till you're distracted by an unusual sound,
Look up and take notice of others;

Engrossed in yourself as time passes away,
Sleeping silently, downwind and out of sight,
Nothing disturbs, not even night giving way to day,
You don't lift a paw to end a proximal fight;

Your wastage of time seems callous and selfish,
Your muses change every half hour,
And never do you think of the past gone by,
You seem to shun every power;

But when you have a muse influential,
Your laziness disappears like it never was,
And actions reek of thoughts prudential,
Energetic, industrious: your lazy self a mirage;

You abhor the pigs for their sleazy habits,
The dogs seem boring and distant,
The sheep are bystanders, you take no notice,
Though your thoughts and moods are never consistent;

Logic is your forte, as much as the raven's,
But emotions shuttle you not un-frequent,
You're referred to as selfish and the heathens,
And made out by others to be delinquent;

You dream colourfull dreams,
Vividly imaginative and full of striking images,
Even when awake, you're in a dream,
As your mind goes through the book of life, flipping its pages;

These dreams feed your creative side,
For reality seems dull, much too often,
You look upon your creations with immense pride,
And a mention of them causes your feelings to soften;

Often you leave tasks incomplete,
Running away to do something better,
Your muses change, your energy and patience deplete,
Unless you find inspiration new, your focus does fritter;

Once that happens, 'tis back to a sleepy state,
Slothing as if under influence of opiates,
But this isn't something to berate,
A topic not open for debate;

You are the dreamers of dreams,
Lonely and pained, needing someone who despises
You, You sit by rivers and desolate streams,
Hoping for another one of love's reprises.

(c) 2001, Shaunak Agarkhedkar.
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