When the apparently elongated life
Is shortened into some moments, a few hours,
Sleep come not in my eyes.
After little an hour night will fall;
Then profound quietus waits for me,
So, why sleep right now?
To waste little but precious pulses!
Lethargic state may appear,
But my mind won't allow.
Mundane hindrance: Shame, Fear, Hatred
Mostly produced by the vain, blind souls
Have spoiled much time of Time,
Too little time left
To meet my soul, if possible Him.
In hand too little time to recreate.
Recreate in grief-
To sweeten great remorse.
Much more doings, not concrete,
Not of this earth but aerial,
Affect from hearts to hearts.
I assure you, the mute sound
Will reach God, if possible to believe.
Sometimes clouds accumulate in joyous sky
Rain falls for a while even
In gloomy night, lightning splits
The sky where moonbeams played a little before,
The Owner of the World betokens His will,
But we fail to perceive this truth
And in vain as our own use our span.
Though 'tis evening, sleep comes not in my eyes,
This harrowing circle I fear not
'Cause all the day is gone in waste,
Now I'm of none,
Now I'm to brood on the rest...
Thursday, December 9, 2010