Sleepless Nights

These days I sleep less

and stay awake more often.

They say it is a sign of aging.

But when I lie in bed

I think of nothing.

Actually.

Fleeting moments of life

in sepia tones

appear and disappear;

fading-- before they merge together.

I think of no one in particular.

Not even you.

There is a strange longing for smells from the past.

Smell of brown-paper

wrapping new school books;

of  parcels received from  distant aunts;

of uncharted roads traveled

together with a wild bunch of friends

looking for life.

Many of them I won’t see again.

Not even on Face Book.

Taste of items tried at street corners

from an endless race of vendors,

in my delirious youth

fill my mouth.

Sometimes…

Lines from letters 

etched in ink

in the dark recesses of a mind

going half blank,

moisten my eyes.

.

My sleepless nights are not filled with fear.

Fear of death or the unknown.

I fear nothing, not even dying and

the pitless void the soul hovers in.

Nor do I pray.

As I have nothing to ask for.

It is just an endless search for a person

I thought I knew,

a person I wanted to be;

a person who had many dreams.

They say

life is just to be experienced

with the good and the bad;

and that

it is all about staying alive

every waking moment

because there may be no

Tomorrow.

That is why

I sleep little these days and

keep awake most  nights.

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DDR, Calcutta,  18.12.03