Poetry world

A freezing dawn of January,

Mystique mist covering the itinerary,

Chilling air reaching inside the cloths,

And then I heard soft whispers,

Saying �Don't go back to sleep�

I thought it�s an illusion,

And it�s only my mind�s creation,

But I heard it again,

Now in a familiar voice,

Saying �Don't go back to sleep�




It kept saying the mystique,

After a while my tears roll down,