sometime late in the night. memories sneak their way to my bed. intruders. they seem to be from some foreign country...from a far, far away time. as far away as the images flickering on the screen beaming down via satellites...just as close. its sedition. stop, i tell my mind, don't be seduced by them. splinters of dreams...they will leave you bloody and bruised. they are stories which are incomplete, slightly off...words with vowels missing. discontent is strewn, artless and mute like the candy wrappers...i don't know which one enclosed a strawberry and which one wrapped a green apple within its sheer confines. its late now and i'm lining up coffee mugs in a circle, one more and it will be a quartet of cellists. a crowd of memories jostle with one another and there is a commotion for more space.
outside, the sky is yet to lighten. a deep, inviting silence... a promise of peace.