The nightlamp at a corner of the room is switched on, lighting the total darkness and creating a dim effect on the baby laying in its cot. Its mother sits beside, patting it with a look of affection on her face. The mobile hanging on top slowly spins around emitting a soft song, sending it to sleep….

Rock-a-bye baby, in the tree top
When the wind blows, the cradle will rock
When the bough breaks, the cradle will fall
And down will come baby, cradle and all

And then it grows up and no lullaby in the whole world could lull it to sleep as it used to before.

When you wouldn’t sleep, wishing you don’t have to. Refusing to shut your eyes and giving in to the exhaustion. You’re afraid of what your dreams would tell you. You’re afraid of knowing what you refuse to acknowledge. You’re afraid to see the hopes building up. To discover and to embrace the hurt again. And you wish the beautiful dreams would drift away, replaced with the usual pitch darkness.

When you couldn’t sleep, even when every cell in your body screams for rest. You’re jumpy, you’re restless and your mind just wouldn’t shut down. You wish your body could work like an electronic device; plug the charger in and switch it on.

And yet, it could be your only zone of comfort. Waking up in the morning and spending the rest of the day looking forward to the moment when you could get under the duvet again. Anticipating eagerly for tomorrow to arrive, hoping to kill the passing moments. Just so you could shut everything out. Every single thought, every unwanted feeling, every lingering problem.

There will come a day when a lullaby is just a lullaby.