Of unsent letters

I stammer,
I get stuck up with words every now and then.
These words,
They leave me stranded bare feet,
Caught up,
In a melee that goes hunting grunting down a sunken road.
I stand there and hear,
Noises from everywhere,
Each one distinctive,razor sharp.

At times,
Lying down on the floor of my roof top
and gazing at the starry night sky,
I would wonder what went wrong.
Why things got muddied up,
Blurred.
Incoherent.

And at those times,
Cigarette in hand,
And with a silent-black tar dripping- night sky looming overhead,
I would wonder if I could do away with the subtleties sometime,

For you.

I would wonder if my voice,
Changed,
Clear,
'un-muddied',
Could serenade you sometime,
Wash down on your senses.

Like the sight of an unearthed city,
Or of a lighthouse overlooking the sea,
Or books- old, wrinkled, yellowish,
Sprayed with poesy in a dwindling language you've just discovered a liking for.
Like the sound of raindrops falling on water,
Or like times when,
A thousand kilometers away from me,
You,
Lying down on the floor of your roof top,
Gaze at the starry night sky too.