The decades long wait of the dawn,
Is veiled by the thick misty dreams,
Its destination,the morning,
It too,lies in wait since aeon,
To rise from the ashes of the burnt out night.
The wild west winds scream,
On their journey to an unknown harbour,
Riding on the thick dark clouds,grim,
Driven by a stormy fervor.
The sobs of the infant light drown,
In the rustle of the tawny leaves,
Ripped out,torn,swept and scattered,
On earth's bosom,barren and battered.
Yes,there's no dearth of light,
Dawn"s heart,the seat of cosmic prism,
All things dark would be eternally aglow,
If it were free to alight,
On the unlit,hidden from vision.
But it is fastened to time,
Cruel,harsh and diabolical,
Its journey,a cyclic motion,
Freedom from time,a ludicrous notion.
I travel along,with the howling wind,
To find solace in the matured Sun,
Maybe, I am on my last journey;
Who knows if this road,
Will ever turn back for me!
But on the edge of the path,
The flowers ,abundant and wild ,
Will reveal in a voice mild,
If I was finally found,by my destination!
Chandni
