The mind never pauses.

Even when tired, and during those sleepless nights, it crawls.

Pushing its way through the perceptions of senses — firing and short-circuiting. The hare and the tortoise compete.

With eyes falling silently closed, the vision of our creative element performs — our personal Hamlet, on the fly.

As lids open, the rushing and random remains:

‘What did I do with that……………is he okay….is it really for me to decide?’

Strange is the night when the mind refuses to finish the race.