Insomnia

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The silhouette moves in the hide-and-seek of the light and darkness. The sounds become clearer. The water from the tap. The whirling of the fan. The clinking of the windchime. Perfect rhythms, never missing a beat, they make music. I see reflections of my thoughts on pen and paper. I realise and reawaken my soul. I count my mistakes. And blessings. Often I cry over things. Big and small. People. Who left and who didn't. Rarely, I think of reality. Days are for reality. For counting gains and losses. Facing harsh truths. Nights are for dreamers. Dreams you see in deep sleep or with open eyes. Visualisations of the vivid imagination come alive in the darkness. Nights are for losing oneself to one's soul. Hear it speak to you in languages only you understand. Of the universe inside you. Slowly, the darkness gives way to light as the stars disappear one by one into an illusion. Even the sky pretends to be a blue facade to hide its true self in the morning. Now I try to sleep. When the world around me is awake and abuzz.

© Suranya





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