Is this a nightmare or a memory?
That startles me and wakes me up,
And when it settles down,
Makes me sadly, fondly, reminiscently smile.
And a thin film of sweat on my skin,
Beads of perspiration,
Forming on the bridge of my nose,
Tell me, that they too, proofs of a fervent moment,
Die unknown.
And a remaining few drops of tears,
Wet my dried, cracked up lips,
As if to say,
It's alright, we too have been left behind,
Disowned.
And a gentle cool wind,
Kisses me on my throbbing forehead,
As if to say, I understand, I too search for a lap,
Where I can cool my burning brows,
Instead I'm destined with howls of throes,
Invisible, to each that comes and goes.
And the dark of the night,
Seems to stare at me rudely,
But when I look closely,
I see a widowed night, an emasculated night,
With closed eyes, sobbing,
Silently, solemnly, lonely.
Is this a nightmare or a memory?
That wakes me up on stagnant nights,
Tell me! my cursed fellow companion,
This alone, on my own,
I cannot decide.
