At four in the middle of the night for me,

And an annoyingly early beginning of the day for most

I am up counting my dreams.

And recollecting how I kept calling for mom,

And she couldn’t hear me through the walls that I am contained in.

I thought the vigil was over,

And yet I hear someone’s staff over the pebbled street.

My eyelids are dropping down over wishing I go back to where I was:

Permeable to thoughts,

Of brushing my teeth by the taps my backyard that no longer exist,

And telling someone I no longer talk to that yes hed find tiffin services in the city.

There’s a cake no one is really attentive about,

Maybe its not an important detail.

But I already know the story between us on a rocking boat,

Ready to jump at the slightest manoeuvre.

I don’t care and let us not bother one another with stupid questions like

How are you?

I used to think I was beyond exams and here I was on a late revision,

Hoping I’d write enough to not fail,

Though failure is what creeps into our minds to scare us into waking up with a start.

And thinking: thank god this was just a dream.

2 thoughts on “Permeable

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