Kaftan drifts as the dervish whirls.  Footsteps heavily influenced to a standstill.  Hands rubbed together, slowly sticking palm to palm.  To sleep is a prayer offered in hope.  The dream is blank state rarely achieved.  Eyes all drained of color, limbs so tired. The mind keeps on spinning, thought after thought racing for attention.  The clock strikes again.  One thirty am... once more sleep escapes.