"To my nocturnal friends who are keeping awake at midnights and talking to the midnight clocks in the ghostly silence of their rooms".
Its past midnight, my limp and frail body Looks at the clock ticking on the wall- 'Tick-tack-toe'.... While it surrenders To the golden sunshine of another day.
I sit downstairs, alone with the midnight clock And the unborn angel in my belly... Listen to the rocking and weeping And lullabies of my older angel upstairs.
Groping in the darkness of the room I listen to her, smell the autumn air As she breaks in sobs and unknown delight Clinging to her papa and her midnight dreams.
One foot already in the sand of sleep, One at the edge of waiting, I sit downstairs, feeling the wind and water Of an unread poem by my muse, Echoing my name in midnight chill.
Nestled in a heaven of unspoken words and journeys I sit here in my room, alone with midnight With the rising wind sighing outside window panes.
I sit here, while dawn breaks out, My sleeping world rushes downstairs Together we breathe the pure morning air.
Till then, I bid adieu to the midnight clock Ticking on the wall--'tick tack-toe', I lay down on the brink of another life Smelling its wind and water in distant dreams.
I bid adieu till I rise like a phoenix again. I'm all burnt out in the midnight chill, Till I rise again in smoke and fire Of the sunshine of another day.
Just a passing thought, mostly in fragments of a jumbled up, narcotic mind which stays awake like a nocturnal bird almost every midnight--today, hopefully, something concrete and contextual came up in the form of a few lines before this narcotic mind bids adieu to midnight and dozes off to sleep for the day. For the records, it is the end of September, fall 2010.
My Review
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I really enjoyed this poem. It was really something that everyone can relate to. That time of night, when you are really tired and it is time to hit the sack. You go to sleep to find yourself rejuvenized, ready for another day. Awesome poem. I appreciate you sharing it. I will be reading more of your writings.
Countless ones Bradley, isn't it, while we have read each others' works here at the Cafe? For me, Writers Cafe has already been re-christened 'Midnight Cafe', quite some time back:)
I can't sleep like regular folks. I work a night shift. Always keep me off balance. I understand this poem. When I sleep for 12 hours. A very good poem. When a woman is with baby. Body can make her crazy. A excellent poem.
Coyote
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