Noise Of Nights Poem by Aadil Hingorjo

It's that I am conscientiously high
But beloved, I'm extremely vacant too;
and amalgamated with hell of tussling thoughts.
Which one is straight to home,
and which takes away from home
It is what the traumatic confusion is.
It is a kind of endless storm over the senses.
It oftentimes does but maddens me in the hours like this one.
Well, here I'm...
Damn distant from the dust of days,
and inordinately natural to the noise of nights.