The sky has become a queer bluish – grey;
I have started staggering whenever I try to walk,
soon it would be pitch dark all around.
There have been words in the echo of the mountain,
but I can't fathom the connotation in-between anymore.
There have been songs in the trickling turbulent rivulet,
but, now, I fail to comprehend the rhythm and the hidden melody.
Life is full of fleeting moments captured in the mind
and a basket full of memoirs of efforts and endeavours.
Is it now impossible to wear that red little frock, again
and smile with a passion like a zingling falling rain?
Is it indeed not feasible to peep at the world
with innocence and curiosity all over again?
Will the breeze carry its secret whispers once again
so that I would be able to run in a carefree mirth
Just one more time?
Everyone here is full of queries!
Who will answer my questions, then?