My eyes have lost their sense of humour,
And my tongue has become loose,
My dry lips don’t need the moisture,
And my heart needs a rest too.
This conundrum of a sleeping pattern,
Has kept me up at nights.
And this vigilant insomnia,
Has me dreaming when the cock crows thrice.
I want to feel normalcy,
But there is none.
When will the sandman make his visit?
In a day, a week, or a month?