When mind is restless
strolling in the deserted corridor
of deep dead nights, everything is at rest in dark,
nothing is visible
to focus on and on, no thoughts to incubate to soothe the senses and pacify stormy writhes in heavy heart, nor a heart, so loved, to feel and heart hurting throbs and hands to heal some invisible wounds,
nor are there faces
to bring smiles,
nothing but a vast blanket
of darkness prevails
far and wide like a deep ditch
of grief and woes.
Then and there I just wait
for the superb dawn
with the sunny rays of hope
succour and joy,
the soul-soothing touch
of the fresh gust of a fresher morn.
