Classic Poem

On a chariot of the gods
midst roaring winds
in a net of skies
I go flying — don't know where —
while lying on the grass.
of the forest.
You can't see the wheels
move in the rustling leaves
and flowers.
The chariot of the mind
keeps climbing steadily
in joy.
Somewhere there's a country
of winds where the dreams flicker
and flash;
they blossom like clouds
and spread out beds
of roses.
Such is the country I go to
where I taste many
savory dishes
and converse for days
with the company of gods
and nymphs.
Over the blue sea travels
the shining chariot
of my mind.
Drawn on I see heaven
smiling, and I step
right in.
King Indra and all the girls
celestial, and the fine
golden houses —
when I have seen them I come
home to the grass, and I feel
well again.
Our heaven's there
where all the dreams
are golden:
our flight is here
inside the mind
with the winds.
The more you wander the wind country
the more you see beauty
with the heart;
your vision cleansed and light
opening in the heart you find