Verisimilitude

On days like this, when little sips of unsavory tea
And a few drops of Scotland's best --
Fornicate with Barsan Laagi,
On days when I cannot even make friends with sleep
And like trespassers I let night
Tiptoe through my windows - with her, little fireflies
And forty other trespassers, silent raindrops.
They leave behind the boundaries of vowels and consonants,
and the warmth of verses and metaphors
and poetry.

Light beckons, hark, the unwanted Stranger!
Night runs, its aides asunder, leaving shadows and afterthoughts
And a little glass shoe.

I see myself, dark and fragile
I inhale desires, bright and robust,
I dream of us, looking at the rains, enveloped
In the garb of succinct conversations
And limp biscuits, lost in the depths, devoid of character
Not quite unlike clouds-- that we pledge to watch together,
Not now, darling, someday.

Sometimes, after all is gone
The windows and the nights,
The fireflies and the ragas
What remains is a silent impulse;
Verisimilitude.
To make meaning of empty things and broken words that are
But incomplete for me, without the letters to your name
Such words, like love and peace and home .

So,
Sometimes, I let night walk into my home through windows,
To float around me like a bridge to the country of dreams
While I fold your thoughts and keep them safe,
On your side of the bed,
Where no one sleeps.