The light has been turned off
And it’s pitch dark
It takes time for eyes to adapt
And yet what they can see
Is more of darkness
Interrupted by vague shapes strewn around
Soft or hard one doesn’t know
Till one has banged
Into them

Eyes pop up everywhere
On shins and knees
As they avoid getting bruised
Palms feel around and seek the bed
Ensuring a space
My bottom can rest on
Gingerly

With a cool efficiency guided by guesswork
I safely lie down on the bed
Now begins the impossible task of lying still
Waiting for real darkness to arrive
To my eyes
It never does
At least not for hours

One can’t toss and turn in the meanwhile
With the spouse snoring lightly
In her easily destructible deep sleep
And I also know her anger
She calls it irritation though
Semantics, what else can I say
That’s the reason I tiptoed in the dark
Without switching on
The lights