in the stillness of the night
in the sonance of the day
in the thrum of rains
why do you tiptoe
and drift placidly
into my thoughts
in murmuring waves
that erupt in trillions
of moments
evolving into
tantalising images
of allure and dreams
wafting around my
being, my soul and
surging through my mind
ceaseless, melodious
in a rhythm that i cannot
fathom but discern
a bond that grows
seeking no acceptance
want that i cannot grasp
keeping me addled
through endless hours
of pulsating beats
confined where
i neither can
touch nor hark
or elude
from these magical spells
of upheaval
when there is no reboot
why
I was not a writer