At night
    while others sleep
    he sees whole galaxies of stars
    wheel and turn
    across indigo meadows of sky
    and hears the sounds of night
    convey a thousand stories.
    Thoughts, useless as comets
    trail across his inner void
    whole worlds are born, expire.
    Racked by an unrelenting wakefulness
    he twists and turns,
    a crucifixion
    gawks at night unraveling
    through a skylight window.
    Cats yowl; a drunk clatters bottles
    shouts his rage into the dark;
    far off a single church bell gong.
    Lying in his solemn bed
    at dawn he sees
    the sky grow pale
    the bellbird's
    single noted, plaintive
    morning song.

       – Jogyata.