She sleeps like the city. Almost unaware of the designs that the sleepless make. But perhaps grumbling once in a while, as a sleepless partner twists and turns. She sleeps like a city that has worked all day, and sleeps without drinking enough water. Waking up in the middle of the night, grabbing a glassful of water. And then falling like a giant, into the emptiness called a bed.
She sleeps like the city, distant lights in her brain twinkling all through the night. Dreams lifted by cranes into different corners of her head and heart. Like call centres operating through the dark hours, some parts of her soul keep answering questions, even as most of her sleeps. One part of the soul tosses the question to another.
She sleeps like the city. With some parts of her limbs and muscles twitching randomly. Jolted awake by the sounds of crying babies, howling dogs, enthusiastic chowkidaars and invisible reptiles. She sleeps like the city, unaware of how many poets write about her, how many men and women attempt to buy their tickets into her heart. Unaware that some people sit in silence, staring at her sleeping form, wondering what promises will be fulfilled as she wakes to another day.