By Binod Pokhrel
A sense of awakening
But in light slumber;
Unable to move the limbs,
Trying hard to speak out
And to scrawl at least.
Bemused I remain,
Am I dreaming
Or awaked I am?
Why do I feel incapable to resist,
The odds around me?
Every night has a story alike
Rallying a deep sense of inabilities
To defy my wills to move, speak or act,
Though I admit my sense being alived.
Isn't it a concern of busy schedule
Working or moving around,
One may have a sense of strong differences
Be it inequlities, social menaces,
Day to day crimes and many more.
All have been sensed to protest
Yet my limbs or my tongue
Prefer to remain dormant.
In search of root of the malady
And approached close to the fact,
I've started doubting
Definitely 'Sleep Paralysed' I am!