At the mid night hour...
the crickets and the roaches were singing uninterrupted
the corner spider was weaving unbothered
& the around the lamp, were the light lovers immersed
in their quest for enlightenment...
but in my world created by my senses and self
something was not cruising along

the moon at his brightest
was quietly patrolling the night skies
the city lights were in usual routine of challenging the starry night
but something was not as it should be

the distant whistle drawed
my attention to the train's conversation with the rails
& here the tap seemed to have ensured the droplets rhythm
but something was certainly out of step

Everything else seems to have a course
so, that something should be... me!!
not a step in any direction
stagnant... shallow.
and the reason
a
passionless
self.