It is night-
a welcome respite from frenetic, harried day-
although what constructs this agitation is unclear, its end is gratifying.
If I squint my hearing,
I can almost imagine the lull of the air-conditioner
to be a warm autumn rainfall,
hushing the ever-present thoughts that goad me on:
something is not quite right.
Still, and stillness is not easily obtained,
the night affords the luxury of solitude-
A deserved hiatus,
a whisper like cocoon that envelopes not only body but also mind,
and finally puts to rest the
noise of nocuous playing.
Something is not quite right...
be still,
be yielding,
bend twig,
bend.
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