I close my eyes:
thoughts wash over one another
like the tide

World of the living dead
undulating before me
Naga’s Nest
is born of my mind.

I die,
blinded,
buried in a tomb of ideas;
birth and death are ideas,
so are you and I –

I open my eyes:
thoughts extinguish.
Dying a thousand deaths
I find Naga’s skin.

Sight restored,
I live again,
in the Garden of Illusions.