In a moment of a sweet silent thought,
A yearning for attention and recognition of the want,
Like a bride longing for a man it wondered,
Claiming its own existence, its own reality,
It still came.

The living presence still stirred,
Seeming to rise from a place inside,
Arousing the urge to be held in loving arms,
And be touched and be talked to,
It still came.

It’s like wanting a flower in buds,
Because the beauty in the bloom is without mystery,
Darkness in the night creates moments not sleepy,
Fighting for elusive that was indefinable,
It still came.

An attempt to feed imagination,
To create images to make alternatives desirable,
Bringing it closer to consciousness it can be able,
It still came.

Confused by the reality of life,
With those stories, it brought live,
Afraid of a mischievous and untamable resident feeling,
Hungering for a life not actual, a life not living,
It still came.

Like a desert traveller running after a mirage,
Driven by a persistent thirst for water,
A feeling of helplessness took over
Searching in a language of its own,
It still came.

The following of this search is silent and irresistible,
As it direct eyes, ears, mind and all the body as it is able,
Defying logic and any rational thinking,
The body being its slave and it the king,
It still came.

After taking its own time, days and even a whole week,
The presence would retire and yearning subside,
Something inside would be free again,
Life goes on and thing around noticeable,
The mind forgets and would be keen on the physical world.