How Real is "Reality"?

The poem speculates the 'realism' of reverie and corporeal form. Can't these two exist as parallel dimensions operating in transcendence? How can reverie be any less of reality?

As I peeped onto the rainwater-kissed rusty leaf

I saw a raindrop dangling

Whose ethereal dilemma ensnared my very being 

Scrambling, it was, to bid adieu to the blooming leaf

For she tranquillized it for long

And drained off the dirt

That made the willow look speckled and its veins wearisome

For they had formed a perfect love story

Letting go, never, was easy! 

This makes me question

How real is "reality"? 

For I seek my home in 'reverie'

And tarry there as a permanent resident 

While "reality" calls me a feeble forgotten guest

And hey! 

If I thrive in reverie

Across the waning and waxing of the moon

Doesn't it make 'reverie' my "reality"? 

And "reality" an unsolicited reverie? 

Now that we have deliberated over the realism of reality

I put the double quotes to rest

And call it the corporeal realm

While reverie the astral one. 

My astral caresses me with truths

That corporeal cannot feed me with

The prior is like a slice of heaven 

That I relish piece by piece 

Until it is all over-

When I buy me a new cake

Who doesn't like cakes? 

I know Freud has a lot to exclaim here

But he is the master I refrain to attend to

For my astral is as real as his id is to him. 

'I' am that raindrop hanging from the rusty willow

Who poured all the love to the leaf

And swept its dusty blots off

Yet the leaf couldn't sustain me

And sells me to the gravity forever. 

As I gravitate towards the astral

It embraces me with open arms

Meticulously re-ties my gentle wings

Embeds into them diamonds

As I take a flight

Towards the yellow lofty ridges 

Across the orchid fields

Gliding through the surreal airs-

Today and always!