Nostalgia

Like the soft waves
gently lapping against my feet,
they knock on my door
late at night,
when listening to songs or reading a book becomes boring
and sleep seems like a faraway dream
that I'm never going to achieve.
They talk, first,
like a very shy guest
who feels uncomfortable no matter what you do;
the plate of topics and the cup of tea left untouched.
I make them feel more at home,
and in no time,
I feel a transformation.
The veil of shyness is removed,
and all I hear is their ceaseless bickering and chatter.
For a person who loves silence more than anything,
these thoughts keep me awfully disturbed.
They've disrupted my mind,
and dropped in endless topics in the plates
and tea in the cups never seems to run out.
And now,
when I open my mouth and shout into the void,
"Seep into my mind and shut it down, please"
I feel the weight of heavy metal chains
on my hands and feet,
and my screams, somehow,
get absorbed by the walls of the cell
that I've been caged in.