When the world slept I sat at the barricade of old classics I ate all morn and at night I went out with the characters one by one, I got drunk, drunk in poetry. The rhymes played at the backstage of my ears and words danced over my forehead. I sat to pen them down and they disappeared with promises of coming back another night. When I slept for odd little hours my muscles ***** me and then they came and flirted with my dreams, gave directions to my winds and wrote music notes for my even eyes. I did not wake them, the dreamy bodies that travelled late night. Where did they all go? Half naked body and an exposed heart did not look for a home, skinny bones and busy fingers lonely under a ****** dark sky killed many restless nights. There was a regretful pile of unwanted recollections I never made peace with, they mocked at me. The odd hours became safe, comforting and easy to swallow? There was no starry night or awaiting lover at the balcony, only a dead village, deaf people and dumb streets. The village girl somewhere missed the city terribly, a convenient companion of her sleepless nights.
