Is it mad of me to say to send me to wonderland so I can play?
Where I can drink tea with a mouse and a hare, and a man in a top hat with 10/6 sitting upon his wild hair to mad for me to even dare?
Where I can escape my reality with a cat that’s not all there, who states that “We’re all mad here.”
Is it bonkers of me to dream such a thing, to fancy a visit to a place only in dreams?
I celebrate my love for the mad things croquet with the queen of all beings.
Curious it is for me to love such a place where threatened can leave me without a head.
But I cannot help that I’m mad for a false reality, anything better than what I endure in this life.
I cannot help that my dreams bring me more joy than reality.
But what even is reality? A place where everything makes sense?
Where everything is as it seems?
Is there really a way to tell what reality is? For all we know, what we live could be all a big dream.
आप पढ़ रहे हैं
My Mind; The Broken
कविताA book of poetry I have written. Most have come from assignments in high school but all are from the heart.
