sleepless

When sleep avoids me,
and chooses another lane,
that clings to the river,
my memories laugh at me then.

My memories are chalk dust,
that wrote several sums,
yet never learnt to count,
may be thats why they ran in circles.

Circles remind me of birthday cakes,
all kinds and shape,
bread, chocolate sugar and candy,
like layers of pages stuck with age.

I always smell new books,
i also smell the old ones,
and every time i sneeze,
i fear a memory is loose.

So i sit up late and write,
if words could a bring jealous light,
and bring my sleep back,
and wipe the memory board black.