What is it that whispers in the silence?
In the soundless night, what is it that I sense?
What is it that turns off the lights?
And makes daylight cringe back in fright?
What is it that makes musings dance-
Dance in glee’s melancholic trance?
Bizarre I know it is, perpetually,
But, what it really is, is still a query.
It comes and goes, amidst ‘yes’ and ‘no’s;
It builds and breaks; stagnates and flows;
Dark and light; and low and high-
I wish I could drown it in the ocean,
And bid it an everlasting good bye.