In search of a poem

Little do I know,
Why I dont dream
Fragrant dreams anymore,
Why hands disembodied
clench at my throat,
Why sweating I wake up,
Fighting for breath,
In the middle of nights.

Little do I know,
Why smells stale
the morning coffee,
Why dewdrops burn my skin,
Why a ghazal humming softly,
screeches like a nail
dragged across a wall,
Why in the full moon I see,
A perfectly rolled roti, tempting,
but away from outstreched hands.

Little do I know,
Why memories trick my heart,
Why life passes by like a cinema,
That looks real, but is an illusion
Nevertheless,
While I look on-
The only audience in an empty theater.

Little do I know,
Why my words stray,
Lost sheep in search for a verse,
Tentative, their nerves alight,
Scared to find their destiny,
While the verse mocks them,
With fleeting glimpses
that haunt my dreams,
But elude my wakeful eyes.

Some day my words
Will find fulfilment,
And rest at peace, curled up
Like a foetus in the mother's womb,
Inside this ever-elusive poem,
And I, the answers finally found,
Shall also rest content,
At peace within my words,
Forever.