A thought struck, 
Collided with another. 
Fallen milk with a shower, 
Turned to snow stuck,
To the ground. 
On a quiet winter day, 
A thoughtless whisper, I say. 
It turns into a dialogue.
My imagination and I, 
Twist tales and lie. 
Argue and reason,
Throw ideas around for fun. 
Then, work beckons.
Yet, the mind still drifts.
Twenty years from now, 
With a book all done, 
A writer takes a bow.
Puts down his pen, 
As the photographer,
Adjusts his lens. 
Five more years, 
And the photos most dear, 
Are painted with a careful hand. 
What next? 
Another occupation,
Slowly takes a stand. 
The dog outside barks,
Good Lord,
Two hours have passed!
Reality seeps in,
Reason takes up the reins.
To boring now, I return. 
Reluctantly, its importance,
I affirm.
With a cup of milky tea, 
By the side. 
I turn up the light, 
And set forth, 
On my responsibilities tonight.


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