An insomniac in my blood, <br />rises to the fore, <br />and slips some heartfelt words, <br />in a rhythmic glitter, <br />and whispers them, <br />in the ear of the sleepless night. <br /> <br />She takes his creation, <br />in her palms, <br />and like the runaway delight, <br />of a sublime thought, <br />slips softly <br />in her own wilderness. <br /> <br />She wreathes the poem’s beauty, <br />in the glory of her stars, <br />and its writhing pain <br />in the heartthrob of her consciousness. <br /> <br />She forgets her planetary creations, <br />and wraps her immensity <br />in one cloak of her overwhelming silence. <br />and sucks me in, inside her infatuating womb, <br />and breathes the truth of her existence, <br />in the trembles of my being. <br />And completes my anatomy. <br /> <br />And why in the day.. <br />somewhere in the closed book <br />of my poems.. <br />I find a familiar scent.. <br />lingering.. <br />overshadowing…. <br />from the tear-stained <br />verse of the forgotten last night….?<br /><br />Sarvesh Kulkarni<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/an-insomniac-and-his-night/
