It is late in the night,

it is silent.


It's the only time I can hear my voice.



The days are busy.  

With demands on me

Some imposed.

Then some which I have imposed

On myself.


I can hear my voice, then too,

but a whisper.

I do not strain.

I let it be.


The voice is honest,

tells me nothing but the truth.

It is not what I want to hear

Not always, atleast.



It gets drowned,

in this  chaos called routine.

Suits me.


The nights are different.

I am the sole audience.

Having my undivided attention, 

The voice rules.