By Rajababu

The coldness of the silent night awakens me from slumber,
Adding insult to injury are the nocturnal insects of pain.
I get up and huddle inside my blanket, groping around,
My hands find the night lamp switch, I put it on.
The fan starts whirring slowly to ward off the incumbent mosquitoes.
I put it off, atleast I'll feel less cold, or so I think;
The Gurkha doing his night beat taps his stick against the walls,
His is one of the nocturnal sounds I hear every night,
While I am fully cognizant, a mosquito takes a shot at my hard earned blood,
I am damn irritated; I slap the elusive mosquito in a hundred areas.
Then suddenly, I see a riot of blood and wings on my shoulder,


Outside, the wind blows on mercilessly,
Hardly a soul on the main road, who would risk the rigors,
The sadness of my mind equals the gloominess of the wintry night.
The clock ticks its way towards 4 in the morning, no traces of the sun.
I fall back on the bed, sad and depressed.


The muezzin calls for an early prayer,
Somewhere in the distance, temple bells ring,
An early bird Christian slowly plays Christmas carols, then gives up,
Maybe it's too early in the day for religion.
I count sheep in my mind, some of them jump, and some don't,
And my insomnia keeps increasing with every non-compliant sheep.


Looking at the grim night outside me, I try to fathom
How the coming tomorrow will look like,
Unfortunately, the wailing winds bring no harbinger of the same,
They just wail and pine away incoherent laments.
The tomorrow will remain a mystery, at least till tonight passes off.


I carry on this self-indulgence till the wee hours of the morning,
Till bored, tired and saddened, I drop off to an inconclusive slumber.