Struggling to practice the torturous art
of deliberate forsaking with a sensitive heart
throbbing with countless sweet memories
and still waters of river in my eyes
endlessly reflecting them everyday,
I’m trapped in the domains of the past joy.
Oh! The present bitterness of the
past sweet reminiscences and their wasps
in the honey comb of my heart sting
for the old honey.
I bleed.

The greatest delight I say is in the morning of life,
the sweetness of innocence,
the carefree life,
the happy dependence,
and the boundless liberty rejoice the soul.
The geneses of life is afresh from the eternal kingdom,
and how else could one have this bliss?
But with passing of each day grows
the pain of cognizance in my soul that
this life has to see the things never seen before;
and that this tough life sets
behind the mountains of emptiness one day;
and that the bygone days of boyhood are
only the receding waves now.

And my soul fears with all its human fraility
the perennial war it has to wage in the offing
against the evil,
and crosses the phases of life
in the garb of flesh and blood
and puss and bones and marrow
advancing itself towards mortality.
The eternal separation form the dawn I mourn.