AT THE BAY OF THE NIGHT

As the toils of the day come to an end,

The body's pleas begin to fade

But minds don't sleep on time or keep their place

As they march in the boots insomnia has made.

A courtroom flickers beneath my eyes,

Unheard complaints and wounds that never healed

The gavel drops in dreams that didn't last

Where justice stops and truth remains concealed.

Old faces flicker faint, I call them across time's swelling stream,

But memory is a fickle, leaving behind a watercolor dream

Tomorrow arrives, a fog wrapped sinister stage

Where plans perform without scripts or cues

The mind - a writer trapped inside a cage 

Produces futures that it cannot pursue

He drafts utopia into the shifting air

Knowing well the flaws in his design

Yet he finds solace in plans that go nowhere. 

Then stomps the poltergeist of Present who haunts tonight 

Tired from insomnia's cruel game

His war begins anew with the morning light

But sleep, the elixir of rest - refuses claim. 

And so he drifts in thoughts he cannot restrain

A sailor caught in cognitive hurricane

Each wave a memory of solace or heartbreaking pain

Each gust a wish for a new future, that sinks in vain. 

Oh mind, when will your turbulence reside,

When will you arrive at sleep's comforting shore

He longs for the storms within him to reside

To silence all... And dream no  more

By Swarnim Marathe