Like a log I sleep,
My restless, sleepless soul,
Remains awake, awaiting whom?
He doesn’t share.
In unimaginable, impossible dreams,
I float like a butterfly,
The Soul stings me often, to rise,
Domineering sleep ignores his nudging.
The mercurial soul, against its nature,
Relishes giving restive responses,
To the quietitude of the night,
Causing disarray to silence of peace.
The Full, graceful, Moon, teases
My Soul, hiding behind dense clouds,
Denying the dark night, its illumine,
Thence it peeps, later, blooms in full.
In retaliatory arrogance, pride,
And brimming, delusional vanity,
My Soul, taunted, and said, O’ Moon,
The light you shine is borrowed.
My Soul prides in its inherent beauty,
Of Light, divinely inspired to Shine,
And dull, the Moon’s grace, which,
Is owed to the blazing Sun.
Devoid of divine blessing,
The Moon would be dark,Cold,
uninspiring for poets,
For drawing parallel with Beloved.
My Soul remains awake for me,
Busy, in pleadings for Mercy,
To the numerous indiscretions,
Lapses, regression, recidivism.
I have been long unkind to myself,
My Soul is Generous, Forgiving,
I continue to hurt and bleed myself,
My Soul tires not in embalming, injuries.
I sleep like a log of wood,
My Soul remains sleepless,
I dream of life yonder,
My Soul shudders of Hereafter.
We remain good friends,
But, a day will come, say,The Noble,
When sleep will be endless,
The Pristine Soul, alone, will be awake.
Sirajuddin Aziz
Partly in London, Dubai & Karachi.
