Every other sound is hushed, the voices of the night-birds are stilled, a pleasant breeze swept lazily over the trees and makes tiny noises on the window, disturbing my solitary music and me. I’d better hurry and open the door, else my dreams are to be blown to pieces!

The cold wind is sitting on the bench outside, reading my fragile dreams, which are shivering with some unknown pain. I stopped to watch the movement of their features and their eagerness to crawl onto my cheeks, a few of them are unfamiliar and hold nothing. A few of them have many digressions, seemed to have learnt a lot about people I met and interacted with, their political minds, aesthetic body presentation, insecurities neatly tucked behind their flamboyant demeanor, their strategies to deceive me or to gain something from me and their metaphysics. My lips stop and come together, people say, she purses her lips.

I am standing in front of the wind, pleading for my fragile dreams to be set free for one more night ,so that I could write yet another portrait of my loneliness in a few lines :

…..How many people are hungry for love underneath the sheets, just like me?
How many people are busy counting the minutes in the darkness, throbbing to
escape into the meaningless dreamlands that explode on their hearts, just like me?
How many of them cry over the remnants of their dreams lying lifeless next to them,
when a new day crawls onto the bed ?
How many of them undesire their yesterday’s desires on a new fresh day ?
How many of them dress up their yesterday’s desires in new robes on a new fresh day?