‘To die, to sleep – to sleep – perchance to dream: ay, there’s the rub, for in that sleep of death what dreams may come when we have shuffled off this mortal coil, must give us pause.’
Shakespeare (Hamlet)
I was frozen in the hail when it touched me
My blood through the veins was iced
I could not move even a little step ahead
My eyes on the roof were stucked thrice!
Was that a mirage?
But how come it’s been there
Whole incident I was stucked at my place
Move any further step I couldn’t dare!
Next my senses witnessed me sleeping on my bed
Frozen at a place like that night
Gosh! It was a frightening nightmare
And everything at their places were alright!
Poetry Pot 