To forget miseries and pains of life, Something for which all mortals strive. To hide from their mischief heap They try hard and fall asleep. Sporadic breaths in gentle pace Constant gestures on stainless face Crouching man, Vitruvian man, man twisted, Scriptless postures invoking laugh instead. Dreams turns into nightmare for some, With money they turned their hearts numb. For some sleep is deep and zealous, That turns even Hypnos jealous. A good day's work which tires you out Gives a good night's sleep we can't dream about.
Who Said Broken Strings Can't Sing...?