Long before the clicking of time-clock,
When memory had no advent,
Your abstract image planted its reflection,
In the all mirrored prism of my soul.
I had many a query and musing,
On the occasional projections,
And silently condensed forms and figures,
Like the recovery of oblivious dreams.
In temple, church and caves, the same image,
The same exploration, more in wretched and outcast,
Had an impelling sway as if a drop of water holds thousand oceans,
Like the ardent cry of an widow damsel,
For a promised off-sea captain,
Or the dry-throat of a pilgrim in a desert-,
To have a peg to quench thirst,
I claim as your shadow, and murmur ever,
Oh! My unborn, ancient, eternal lover!