Every night

Every night, he came; singing furtively into my ears, and every night, I kept listening. In the rhythm of the songs he played, he mixed a tune of fear with the beats of hope and as he sang fear into me every night. He, until now, restored me new hopes, and I breathe with shimmering beauty in the reckless air that moves my will until now.

My fear, always turned to silence, and the odious tunes seared me out of life, lending me dreams every night, revealing the colors of the dark, just to fill blank spaces.

I speak of him in fear, and every night that I listen to his song, I think of him in tears, as a part, then as a subject of The Supreme.

I walk, I smile, I talk, I whine, and in the peak of my happiness and rave, in the pitch of my sadness and melancholy, I still hear his songs, and only temporary will these glamour lasts for this song he sings, reminds me of when I'll lay worse than an antique, when I'll lay dumb, blind, emotionless, when nothing will matter like those quiet in mortuaries and sepulchers.

And as I speak of him with great fear, as I grant him audience every night, out of hope, I never learn his lyrics, and as I danced to his songs in dreams, I never recall the steps I made, and still every night, I soar out of life.

surely, like those before me, I'll come to dream and dream and air will be of no relevance, my heirs will deride my living, my wealth will leave me, friends will abandon me, and in the utmost of my time, I'll live with rodents and bugs, lice and other dark animals that dread to live in the soil where I reside.

And I remember when the rain mattered, I was found in shades, beneath zinc rooftops. When the sunshine warmed the air, biting our skin with intense heat, I found comfort in dark shades where the temperature was young and adolescent in number. And when the sky glittered with aesthetic rainbow colors, I usually stared amused in joy.

But then a second will arrive when nothing will matter, when I'll soak in a chamber of rain water, when I'll burn in the radiance of the solar heat, when I'll be blind to all that glitters and even all that is gold.

He sings to me every night, reminding me of his lyrics, teaching his songs in dreams, playing the overture in sleeps, but I pay no heed to his song and I listen to my own song. I play my own song in the air I breathe and I keep breathing out of mercy, in feeds, I eat out of blessing.

My smiles and my happiness and every hour that I flourish with expression that will end in imminence.

I talk and talk to a moment when I'll cease to have a voice.

I'll wish and aspire until a moment when the ground will be my only limit.

and I look and look at the beauty in flowers, the beauty in men, in women, children and all beautiful things alike only for this while that I have a life to live and speared the chance to see.

And on and on, I didnt listen for his fear was becoming grave, I didnt listen to its call on my temporary essence. And one night, my body shrilled, my soul shivered, and my heart quaked. in the fear of this first night, I screamed for help, I screamed for my mother from whom my life was made, and at the pitch of my voice not I nor my mother heard my sound, my body laid stiff, and like it had always been playing, I heard his song in my soul again, and in an interim, it stopped, I moved violently on my couch, and I imagine it was a nightmare, or a seizure that didnt last long.

Its all tales that I narrate, only if we pay heed to the death thats knocking on our soul, his song about life and where it all has to end, then the fear of dreaming infinitely, the fear of being less than bugs and mites, the fear of the dark, the fear of immobility, only then will we fear the end.


This is kinda old & filled with errors. I wrote it when i had My first episode of sleep paralysis. Ya'll can check "sleep paralysis" on wikipedia. Thanks for ur comments(in adv). Sayonara