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<div style="background:#fff;border:#bbb dashed 1px;padding:5px"><a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=494497" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"><div style="margin:10px 0"><strong>The Insomniac Is Alive</strong></div><div style="margin:10px 0">there is yet no pillow designed for him<br>to make him sleep soundly <br>instantly like a click of flourescent light<br>or the blink <br>the flash of hypnotism<br>or the tap of his hand</div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br>then sleep like a dead dog, this insomniac, like you<br>(it is 2: 09 a.m. now, and what blinks it only this power<br>of the computer and it buzzing sound like <br>an insomniac<br>bee in a sleepless garden) </div><div style="margin:10px 0">sleep is too cruel and unkind<br>not even trying to hold my collar and pull me to a soft bed<br>and give me peace and rest </div><div style="margin:10px 0">well then<br>go, go away sleepy butterflies go away to <br>the place of waking flowers and be distant, distinct and <br>disappear, there is no logic in this manner <br>on a restless brain of the insomniac</div><div style="margin:10px 0">sleepless again but taking most of the time<br>he writes letters to friends, emails to peers, ecards to nephews<br>and nieces, articles for journals, pause and think, and press the keys<br>of the computer again, </div><div style="margin:10px 0">a rat passes by so afraid, a cockroach flies on my ear, <br>a dragonfly is lost again flying like a chopper on the ceiling<br>a lizard waits and lets loose its tongue to engulf an early breakfast<br>a cold wind, a soul touches my head, my hair moves like a river<br>my fingers tic tac toe, my mind on an abra ca dabra, opening caves<br>where treasures lie</div><div style="margin:10px 0">and you follow me on this lonely trek in the night in the coming<br>of morning, looking for meanings in this literary locomotion</div><div style="margin:10px 0">stop there, because in truth, an insomniac who is still alive<br>has nothing to offer</div><div style="margin:10px 0">except that you, must tell some other stories, in this mutual state, <br>your eyes awake, your nerves wrecked, your minds still rambling</div><div style="margin:10px 0">i am through<br>it is now your turn to speak how fast the clock ticks <br>how time runs without our knowing</div><div style="margin:10px 0">it is now 2: 20 a.m. in the place of my sleeplessness</div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br /></a><br />poem by <a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/by.php?a=Ric+S.+Bastasa">Ric S. Bastasa</a><div class=q>
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<script type="text/javascript" src="//s7.addthis.com/js/300/addthis_widget.js#pubid=citatepedia" async="async"></script><div style="display:inline-block" class="addthis_sharing_toolbox" data-url="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=494497" data-title="The Insomniac Is Alive de Ric S. Bastasa" data-description="there is yet no pillow designed for him
to make him sleep soundly 
instantly like a click of flourescent light
or the blink 
the flash of hypnotism
or the tap of his hand


then sleep like a dead dog, this insomniac, like you
(it is 2: 09 a.m. now..."></div>
</div>
</div>