illumination in sleep

tis' a strange day for the spirit,
breathing cold on a warm mattress
thinking ahead, the time and distance
perhaps here or the world around
eyes gets closed, letting those dreams
to open, never mind the pain
but the stories that are left behind
every breath has a story to be told
and every story has its breath in hold
many are unfinished yet, and some
are now being written in dreams

when the window brightens, the light
slowly moves over the face, like
how sun crawls over the mountains
or like the river flows through the dawn
serene silence all around
I sit comfortably numb on a couch
gazing through the door, half closed
with an unfinished book, open
trying to read the mind, the other side
waiting to hear all the stories, untold
and are getting illuminated in sleep

Srik

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