At night
while others sleep
he sees whole galaxies of stars
wheel and turn
across indigo meadows of sky
and hears the sounds of night
convey a thousand stories.
Thoughts, useless as comets
trail across his inner void
whole worlds are born, expire.
Racked by an unrelenting wakefulness
he twists and turns,
a crucifixion
gawks at night unraveling
through a skylight window.
Cats yowl; a drunk clatters bottles
shouts his rage into the dark;
far off a single church bell gong.
Lying in his solemn bed
at dawn he sees
the sky grow pale
the bellbird’s
single noted, plaintive
morning song.

– Jogyata Dallas.


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