The monks of midnight ,always enchant beautiful stories.Silent hours do magic to our spirits.
Less privileged are the ones who sleep in those silent hours.
Rest your body and
Make your mind wander
You’ll open up so much in you.
“The one who keeps her heart awake,though the eyes of her head may sleep.Her heart will open a hundred eyes ”
This night is unlike the other nights.My heart readily switches on the heavy-heart mode.My eyes close,but my mind doesn’t My body finds rest,but my heart lingers.Blanket covers me,but my soul wears the attire of nakedness.The door remains shut but my heart finds an opening at whose threshold I embrace darkness and start conversing with it.My feelings for the refugees come up rushing to my heart.
The news,which I’ve seen just now is disturbing me so much that it even stops me from sleeping and sows seeds of empathy in me.
My empathy tracks it way through a least artistic poem…..
a lost wanderer,
recognition and identification,
I am a tattered soul,
shattered tear drops,
on his shirt,
every sleepless night.
I am no more to many.