An ode to 'tossing and turning'

See I’ve counted all the stars,

Traced every constellation,

Disguised airplanes with planets so high,

Deciphered every loudest silence,

Every quiet howl,

All the unsaid words and sighs.

Sleep is not a visitor of mine,

Always refusing to surrender to time

But thoughts are right there at my feet.

Ready to be fed,

With puppy eyes.

And if you get time,

From the worldly talks,

I’ll tell you what the wind whispered about.

I’ll tell you about the happiest guy you heard about,

Who cried himself to sleep last night.

And the girl you just called ‘such a bore’,

who came out with a pack wolves,

From a war you’ll never understand.

In a world where Robbin Williams no longer comes at the stage,

Making even the dead burst into laughter.

Where Kurt Cobain shot himself,

Where The Simpsons predicted that

Trump will take a piece of your pie,

In the end, even Chester got too good at saying goodbye.

 we’ll shortlist few things and people and places,

 that are still worth living for,

how life can still turn out to be more than just fine.

And if you’ll be up at 3 a.m.,

In love or drunk or broken,

I’ll be the best co-pilot you can ever find.

But my idea of last refuge would be,

a sense of superiority,

to the sleeping world.

No I don’t fear the sleepless nights,

Even after noticing

 50 shades of dark circles under my eyes,

I’ll always be four days past my bedtime.