The Dream Maker Poem by Kishore Asthana

My dreams are alive, and some of them talk
Some of them smile, some grin, some love
Some in vain pursuit, run here and there
Looking for dreams of their own

Some dreams, malignant and dark
Mutate into nightmares
And hold my tranquillity hostage
At the whim of the Dream-maker

Yes, it is she who rocks the cradle
Where made of hubris, dreams are born
And moulds them, she who knows best
What I am, what you are