Late in the night, I felt asleep,
With my head resting, on the paper sheets.
Early in the morning, after I woke up
I started to recite, what I inscribed.
Suddenly I stopped, I deleted one verse…
That is not right!!!
What I wanted to write?
For hours I kept thinking,
To an obscure mystery,
Of an unheard little poetry,
Hiding deep in my memory.
Late in the night,
The Insomnia looms,
The lonely mind of the poet,
Gazing at the cigar fumes.
The poet mind builds,
Insomnia of desire love,
With bricks of passion verses,
Like mason building a wall.
Born from a brainstorm,
Of thoughts, lived on the day,
Verse after verse,
Insomnia spreads her rays.
The dearth of fervor verses
Are raising from the paper,
Cursing angrily insomnia,
And the poor poet, forever.
One last gleam of verse
And the love poem is done,
Insomnia lets the poet to sleep,
With the arrival of dawn.
Adrian B 