More than just circadian rhythms,
rather has something to do with my
incessant scuffle to be in reality,
Its not I want to escape, but,
for a while,
I should have my share of slumber
to wake up the cryptic theist,
That may want to turn the world
into a livable corner,
For me, at least .
More than just carrying the Sheaf
of my ratiocination,
This perennial roof of clumsiness
Rather has something to do with my
will to be liberated.
Its not I think of it constantly, but,
For a while,
I should not be what I portray,
Feeding some audacity to the
Unleashing the unreasonable
For me, at least.