In the hidden gardens of sleep,
a green serpent devours its own tail —
not in despair, but in meditation.
Its body loops endlessly through itself,
knotting time into emerald stillness.
Each turn is a sigh, each bite a vow of return.
It feeds upon recurrence,
a hunger shaped like eternity.
Those who glimpse it in dreams awaken with circles in their eyes —
seeing no line as straight again.
“To end within oneself is to begin without boundary.”
The Maharajagar 