somewhere in my incapacities

For some reason, sleep betrays my eyes the moment I crave for your dreams.

The aching chafed soul drowning in the sheer wretchedness of loss, like the first sudden epiphany about the legends of fairy folk or geriatric bearded man making wishes come true.

The way you strike rock bottom only to realize seconds later that some more quagmires are yet to be braved; it continues to be a string of endless disappointments.

I fail miserably at all attempts to create poetry out of translucent longings.
I write,  erase only to re-write some more,
and hence emerges a shadow-play of all the wishes unfulfilled and left floating in the air, against the bright flames of our dried hushed voices, covered behind a veneer of raw desire.

I aspire to be as blatant as your advances and demure as all my attempts to escape.
My sighs offer a voice-over, amidst the dull percussions of life pulsing through our necks.

I aspire to write out my careless exhausted insanity that refuses to slip into submission, the way you often evade my imagination in the commute of voices following us.

The way you find ways to trick the elements around me
 as more often than not we unravel earth beneath a veil of fire and water trickling through the pockets of wind.

We’ve woven stories out of unsaid desires before haven’t we anyway?
Like that time you fell off a poetry only to fall quietly in my arms or the times when by breaths silently took your form.

Like your common aliases, silence and the quiet,
I crave for you again in this un-scripted un-rhymed poetry of mine.
Try not to fail me, if you please.