Not always do soft pillows promise sound sleep,

The conjunction of flesh, blood, and bones

Is enough to make you weep,

‘Put on the AC; it’s so hot,’

The son of the pavement had known that not.

The whiny buzz of the hovering friends

An agonizing element you say, a sleep deterrent?

But the same symphony lulls him to a peaceful slumber,

Without any frown or for that matter a repellent.

Put your soul to rest, the cover will follow suit.

The long-drawn tribulations of the day are sure to bear fruit.

Slumber surely has the spirit sealed

A prince or a pauper – merely a corpse being healed

And nurtured for a new sun, new frenzy and new gleam,

A thousand splendid stars wait to paint another masterpiece

Or a new dream!

Man or Machine – either shall bow in the end,

A new saga in the process, to set another trend.

Till then the son of the soil knows his roots,

At least would like to assume in a world full of brutes.

Silent is the Pharaoh locked in his tomb,

Crafting a new paradise perhaps in a different womb.

To compose this humble lay, there’s barely any strife,

For this, my dear friend is the basic Psalm of life.