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.