Vaish Sinha Poet Free verse

Sleepless ones

broken souls and broken hearts,
the sleepless ones who look at torn stars,
the twinkling lights that blink afar, 
city lights blurred with blinding cars,
are all befriended by the dreamless faces,
that look like lost and stolen art;

estranged glances and estranged words,
the sound of silence they've always heard,
fragrances of the night that are so absurd,
keep alive the sleepless ones who are lured,
by the dark and scary midnight,
when the sky bears no birds;

fluttering curtains and fluttering wind chimes,
the blazing noise that seeps in from the outside,
sleepless ones try their best to hide,
but Oh! It's already twilight,
the sun and moon sit beside,
while sleepless ones look at committed crimes;

a new dawn and a new day,
it has unwillingly arrived,
another night with no dreams,
another dark time where past screams,
when the moon hears no cries,
it means the sleepless ones have died.

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Alison A Smith nee Howarth September 15, 2026 at 4:22 AM A haunting, atmospheric free-verse meditation on insomnia, where the recurring “sleepless ones” gives the poem both cohesion and a shared, almost ghostly identity. The imagery moves beautifully between distant torn stars, blurred city lights, fluttering curtains, and the unnerving companionship of twilight; its closing lands with stark, sorrowful finality.