Rattlings of an Insomniac

There are shrills in the night that can never be heard in the shining of the daylight.A cut of the breeze,a hymn of the grass,a song of the foot steps and the splash of the pouring sweat.The night brings an uncanny humour that is to be seen in every eyes,every eye whiling by,whiling by under the splashing sky.The nights of Scmhrd have a ring to it,the sound in the pause and the pause in the noise.Jostling boys vying to be men,on their horses and shackling zen.Out are the swords,brimming with sand,in the writhe of hands making thy name.

It never ceases to amaze,the way nights sing.The brushes of the building,the lights outlining the windows,the songs of people burning the midnight oil,diving in something and admiring the hailing sky.The way the silent gloomy rooms look in envy,wondering about all the comforts which now looks so empty.An empty room is gleaming with desires,and a room full of crowns churning ire.The masks are of,eyes are looking in,the hardships of the day are sweeping nils.The iffy tomorrow has it’s say,”The one who stays up late shall hold the spade”.

The campus fuses in to be a kingdom,plans and schemes gets sketched.Strategies and ploy executed in tandem.The walls reinforced into a fortress,while the outside light trying to peek in.In the foray of the lines,a world is etched,the spleens of light getting fetched.Every corner has a story,in the middle of a realm and in skirts of fringes.These stories will someday make a house in ounces of the world or a shadow that would never fall.Jut like the foray of the night,the world shall fall and rise,the light will give way to shadows and then shadows will one day cease into sight.

The eyes of the night never has the say,they only sing about the musings of the night.People call it sightings of an Art,Scmhrd calls it “The Rattlings Of an Insomniac” Citeabstract-979604

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