Moonlighting muses creep through inner bookshelves
Side stepping their illusionary shadows, I wait for night
Chiding them gently for sneaking inside
Greedily absorbing the inner glints of hushed words
their perceptive feelers penetrate my unseen whorls
They insist on sliding through my soft tunnels
Trolling me in with their bait of wanton delights
I yield, letting them romp with my soul strings
Playing with memories of lost bouts of blind sleep
Till they beg me
To release them from my pen……

Between the ornate presswood bed
and the simple wooden desk,
A window remains ever open
The creak-less calm lulling
the eager thought bubbles
into a soft, lapping wavelet of dreams.
As the satiated room goes quiet, I rise
pushing back the sleepily entreating arms with ease
And walk steadily towards the moonlit patch
spotlighting the blank sheet
on which my pen sleeps…..

The window stares
at the dim street lights
-the eerie eyes of the cold night.
Sporadic gusts tug at the careless knot
releasing my impatient tresses
like a grateful stole falling over the starkness,
comforting and cradling shivering bodies
consumed by dreamless fatigue
far removed from winter’s charms-
hot coffee and a book
And the pen begins to weep…

©Reena Prasad
First published in Indian Ruminations

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