Control freak

The dead of the night has dawned.
The sounds around me,
have died down to a trickle.
Some dogs outside are awake.
Just like my fridge,
my clock,
my conscience,
and my ambitions.

The sounds weren’t dead about an hour back.
And hours before that hour.
They were rushing by,
keeping up with the time rushing by,
Keeping it company.
Or they were time itself.
I don’t know for certain.

Now when I mention sounds,
I remember other things as well.
People and praises.
Articles and artists.
News and newsmakers.
Songs and songsters.
Sombre and whimsical scenes.
Deadlines and dead thoughts.

They too have rushed me by.
Like the madcap train rushing before your eyes.

How I would like to store and keep them,
in a folder of earthly dimensions.

All these mad things passing by.
Don’t want to miss them.
Not even a single one.
Want to collect and hide them.
For myself.
Be they pleasing or otherwise.

But I can’t find a folder of that size.
And even now it’s zipping past.
Flying by.
Flying through.
Flying with me.

As for collecting and hiding,
I think my mind is the best bet.

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