broken sleep

when you are still clutching at
the last few strands of sleep, and
the air is grim with envy for
the shape of your belief,

i want to entomb your fragility
in a mausoleum, made of
that first smile, the last kiss, the dread
of a heart, breaking into wet dirt,

that we scrap from our weary old souls,
after a half-digested need (breath-like)
for the other.

i want to be a tearful-sight, a shadow-
sign of your unfulfilled sleep. i want
to rest against the ghosts of your lies,
till wakefulness pushes me towards
the exit of your dire dreams.

do not rise yet, do not put me down yet.
i want to want once more, before the end.

.
© Anmol Arora

Day 8
(Inter)National Poetry Month

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