The Dream of the Ordinary

After reading a million tomes,
the man said, “Worthless! I’d rather go home —
earn my bread like an ordinary man.
Toiling, struggling, but never again
falling for a vivid, unreal dream.”

He forged a kiln from wet earth bricks,
playing with countless stones and sticks,
and built a city of golden towers,
with avenues lined by crimson trees,
lost in its enchanting maze.

Then he paused and softly said,
“I see now — the real is unreal, too.”