All days are the same, no alarm clock, no splashing sunlight and no gust of morning breeze. A buzzing cooler blows hot air, a ceiling fan spins reluctantly, together they join to caress my tired soul every morning. 

Tired eyes after years of vigil in my nightmares, seek solace in the stillness of the nascent moments, lying wide open for a zillion seconds, they blink only to push the nightmares away, only in vain.

I brush my teeth, eat breakfast, peruse through the Times of India, often just scanning through reluctantly. I sit in front of my computer and look vacantly at the screens, often ruminating over the thousand brilliant ideas which were born and grew inside my head before  losing shape in the darkness of the night.

Sometimes, I string along words to describe the thoughts that didn't allow me to sleep for many nights but the words doesn't seem to be mine. They are more of borrowed alphabets from the things that I read and hear all through the day, I tempt them, try to sell them the ideas but they always stay away, they are never mine, perhaps never would be.

Sometimes, I do jot down some words, which takes the shape of paragraphs before losing its way in the vastness. They look for me to guide them but then I fail them and they keep wandering stubbornly amidst the debris of thoughts, sometimes picking something on the way in their quest to find home. Most of the time they are lost, while sometimes they surprise me and come back home. 

The failure everyday piles on, gives me a melancholic feeling and then the failure becomes a part of my existence. I keep fooling my heart into believing that all these failures would be someday turned into some magic treasure troves from where I will script my success and they still believe me. Thus I still keep walking and so lives my dream for a better tomorrow.