Why It's So? Poem by prabhakar bhatlekar

Why halfway I close the
book to brood?
Then keep forgetting
the story and crave
to know what was
the writer's life like?
Strange, how I miss the
direction while walking
and imagine the road unknown?
I regret for how they all
care for me, a hard
nut to break?
Why there is hummingbird at
the window every morning?
I feel guilty for not
knowing it's mind.
Why am keeping this
unopened envelope for ages?
Is any magic massage there?
Those lingering soft tunes
from somewhere...
from where?
Are they for me or
I just imagine?
Why halfway I walk
out of the dream and refuse
to believe the night around?