The Plague Of Insomnia 

​I am surviving the plague of insomnia,

With exotic aroma of the favoured tea bags.

Turning the  key to the world of fantasy,

And travelling through pages of classics and fusions.

Living the words debossed on the pages and screen I read, 

And feeling the emotions painted by the writers

Belonging to the magical world of literature. 

I watch the hues of yellow and orange and everything bright 

Take over the dark canvas of night,

I see the birds flying across with drowsy eyes in search of a new day

While I concentrate on the stories I read

With eyes not willing to shut down for rest. 

I hear the sounds of social concrete jungle waking up to the magnifying shades of light,

The warmth of the lit kitchen,

And the smell of baked delicacies reaching me through the window. 

After 481 pages of travelling through time

Magical realms and sailing across the sea of monsters and pirates,

I look at the mirror searching for an atom of sleep in my reflection.

But my system lost to the whirlpool of never ending functioning and open eyes,

My eye lids knocking my subconscious with an unknown fatigue pleading for sleep,

I crave for a yawn of hope of tiredness and sleep. 

Page 482 and  I keep reading,

Refilling my empty cup and ignoring the tumult of mankind,

Hoping to fall asleep 

And wake up to the joy of spending the fall playing dreams. 

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