Sleep & Insomnia


“The product of sleepless nights … Science fiction meets fantasy, but neither dance for me while I’m awake. I’ve always had a fantasy of sleeping on a room where walls of books made up the space – with a sense of immersion into a world of written fantasy.” –Zach Wong

D.S.M.-V (Dielectric Spectroscopy; Star-Crossed Science)
This is a chocolate worth the Chocolate!
When evenings grow out of dusk and
the chocolate covers the skies…
Or has it covered my eyes,
nearing an ecstatic death?!

Or has it been growing upon
my soul for infinity
and tonight, in a moment of epiphany
it had come to complete
the purpose of my Chocolate?

Beyond the questions of how? and why?
I want my heart to speak!
As questions of science,
and signs of progress
could not speak as loud as my heart!

How broad is the Broadband? And how
the dielectric
could be a single entity
they be, while being so opposite!
So is it a cruel joke on them?

And how does Spectroscopy
ever even claim to know them
if, sometimes a cigar
is just a cigar!

So where is psychology?

And if i eat all this sinew noodle
what would be left in a twisted
world for you to eat tonight?
So let the manatee
upon his melancholy hill thus be…


Now let me sleep, I let you go:
Invading my 4 A.M. dreams
And holding on till sun should show

How would you ever even know
What have i lost, evasive dreams!
Now let me sleep I let you go.

Apparition has me in tow,
Your drowning sound in formless screams,
And holding on till sun should show

Hard rock/head bangs/metallic show,
Angel/devil evoking screams
Now let me sleep I let you go.

For known/unknown these tears flow,
Maybe snow melts in torrent streams
And holding on till sun should show.

Eyes shut, un-shut, re-shut and glow
Burning your dream they hold in gleam.
Now let me sleep I let you go
And holding on till sun should show.


with the days go
sleeping while the dreams come
waking like some dragon, falcon
flies on


What are you to me?
What are you except
an angelic photograph,
an illusion built upon
some fading, fleeting yet
some beautiful dreams!

What difference does it make
even if i’m in love
with this illusion?
What difference if my love
doesn’t even create a stir
in heart of its reality?

Now should i part with reality?
Or should i hold illusion?
To play the part of parting pain
is not my part to play.
For parting pain is their lot
who have the pleasure of being met!

But when the snow of your land
melts, maybe then i’ll hold your hand.
And together we shall see the sun
that sinks at last in hills of gold
And together we shall sip some cold
from shivering cups that have grown old.


Reality is wrong and dreams: real!

a dreamer is the one who can only
find his way by moonlight, and his punish
-ment is that he sees dawn before
the rest of the world.

My life has tendency to fall apart
when I’m awake, you know? Yes
-terday is but today’s memory, and tomorrow; today’s dream.

And still I dream of you lost in my dreams
In meadows where I reach to you from sands.
I see you chanting solemn by the streams,
I will requite thee. Taming my wild heart to thy loving hand.”

Each moment thus this moth just burns you,
And every moment thence revives anew!


Spending thy energy in the fist
Shag shag jerk, let me play twisty wrist!
Losing all I may fall
fast-a-sleep as it fall!
Losing all wakeful slime of first kiss!


The night has passed into another and formed a chain
Of nights entwined in nights which push
The day in hibernation hell. Oh no don’t wake!
Don’t bring the demon out of hell. Don’t pull
The chain or else estranged nightmare might wake from dream
Let’s chain the sun before the start!

Revolution of this stupid spec may start
The breaking down of glorious chain
Which have for long kept hold of dream
From metamorphosing to nightmare. Push
out this spec from solar gravitational pull
Be quick now shoot else he might wake!

The world is still asleep; he is about to wake!
The day! The day! Awake! Don’t let him have you with a start
Come now let’s fight the gravitational pull
Escape velocity has got us all in chain
And all it takes is just a little push
And then we all can dream ‘Forever Dream’!

No please don’t ask “What dreams you dream
While you can’t sleep? You ’wake?!”
No! Please no more of therapeutic push
Else we might get late! Come let us start!
Come let us fly, let’s break the chain
Escape to outer space where there’s no pull…

Go take a look at those who have succumbed to pull:
They have long been asleep now in a dream-
less sleep, bound to this earth by the gravitational chain
Now can they…? How can they levitate!? They wake
Up with a start
On your escaping push!

Oh no! My bad! Don’t push!
Your dreams are yours and mine, mine! They might pull
You into a speedy start…
While I might stay awake in dream
And yet awake! Always awake! I wake
From night into another. The chain…

Don’t push, oh no don’t pull the chain
Or else this train would stop and wake
With screeching start into your dream.

sun’s smoke siesta
lost in the boiling mist
somnambulist’s night


That night the rats had a bit over did their measure.

For as long as he had been living in this room it had been their routine to visit his nights. This never perturbed or even bothered him a bit. But that night, these companions of his nights had created quite a bustle in the room. And then there was a strange unrest too, that had been churning his mind since the very evening. As he lay restlessly tossing in his bed, he attempted making noises which could scare away the rats.

All his efforts counted to naught!


Then strangely, not very long after, there was a complete silence. Probably the rats had, all at once evacuated the room and left him with the restless solitude.


Overwhelmed by the fatigue of a restless day he was fast asleep.


For an infinitely long duration he has been sitting in this dark corner with head sunk in his arms, restless over some unknown feeling. Alarmingly, out of nowhere, a clear pleasant voice addresses him “Quest!”


Surprised, as he raise his head what does he see?


A man not very tall and not short, dressed in white robes. His curly locks adorned with a laurel wreath. His face had a complexion of silver luminescence, that of a mirror, a full moon in a clear sky. Although complete stranger he felt like some old acquaintance. Smiled softly as though confirming the situation.

The stranger said:

“This blade cleaves human soul, moving to and fro between the two extremes of hope and despair, never at rest and never in rush, but forever in the state of a perpetual unease. Drowning in this moment, lost somewhere between forms and formlessness, you grope for the impalpable oars of art…” paused for a while and then continued his elocution, “this unrest is both parent and progeny of your poetry.”


Enquiringly Q uttered “and you…?” but before he could complete his question the stranger had vanished in the dark.


I’m here and there, I’m lost somewhere,
Somewhere within my wakeful dreams;
This place might well be called nowhere
As peace sojourned in speechless screams.

The next morning, earlier than his routine, Q woke up and lit the room only to notice the strange condition in which his book shelf was. As he went closer he saw, quite to his amazement, the diary in which he used to pen his poems was bit to tatters.

Surprisingly rest of the shelf was well intact!

A strange thing occurred to him; he collected the remains of his diary, brought them to the floor and lit them up. They burned in a graceful green flame until only grey-black ashes were left. He picked up the ashes, rubbed them on his palms and pressed them on the wall. Like some fade memory they left just a very fade impression. With a pencil he highlighted them hoping they stay there forever. And beneath them he wrote the lines:

‘Then by the billows at his feet was tossed
A broken oar; and carved thereon he read:
Oft was I weary, when I toiled at thee;”
And like a man, who findeth what was lost,
He wrote the words, then lifted up his head,
And flung his useless pen into the sea.’


Relived he rushed out of the room and into the open.

He stood staring as far as his eyes could. The sun was just about to show on the horizon. The sky had become a plethora of colors, painted in light purple with streaks of orange, far at the horizon a few trees lend it a tint of yellow and green. Overwhelmed with freedom he drew a deep breath. And thus he stood silently smiling, blankly wondering over what was lost and what found.

Exhausted me and burned to death
My fiery loud eloquence;
Required but more than heart and breath
And more than vital signs is hence!