Insomnia

The night is a timeless slumber; 

The city's a lifeless corpse, 

Sleepless I lurk in my corner, 

The labyrinths; they reek of Silence. 

The whistling wind in the distance cries, 

The only response are solemn sighs, 

Of rustling leaves and lanes eerie, 

Enshrouded by Darkness, melancholy. 

Though this city I call my home, 

Stranger I am, known to none;

Me, in my closed isolated system, 

Unsure of the very root of my Existence. 

My soul is as dry as the nights I spend, 

Haunted by the Past, troubled by my Present, 

Scared of the Tomorrow that awaits me, 

Consumed by Insomnia, its frail fury. 

A flurry of thoughts frisks my mind, 

Yet there are no answers, but more questions I find,

The city sleeps sound and I'm wide awake, 

As the Endless Night draws to a dreary daybreak. 

The night is an eternal slumber; 

The city, a stone-cold corpse, 

The alleys; they stench of silence, 

Ever foreign to the solitary Stargazer...

Reviews

[Tanvi]

yo this is actually a very very beautiful poem man, i am in love with it

[Swagato Saha]

I am glad you liked it - even more so, this being among the earliest poems I had written. 7 years ago.

[Tanvi]

damn thats rlly cool that its 7 years old