The swan is set to fly away alone.
From earth-pilgrimage it’s time to unwind.
No memories are saved of mortal zone…
of stone or bone…nor traces left behind.
It’s just a dream…a palpable figment;
of places, people, tastes and fragrances.
Those wild eddies of love and sentiment
are straightening now on shores of dead senses.
Also Read : HIS NAMES
She’s bright, as bright as the Sun with dazzle-plume
and llike the first dew drop on green meadow…
lucid and clean with no gaiety or gloom…
now high, crossing the bland mundane hedgerow.
She’s back to home, an abode with no dome,
no floor, no room…but just a humming OM.
Also Read : THE LITTLE THIEF
