Desire to hold on to this life,
Yet dispersing into air.
Longing for thee closeness,
Yet going afar.
Like a tiny boat on water,
Coming close and moving away;
On high and low tides,
Swaying & going down.
Oh! These winds of desire,
How frequently change the path,
Whirling around, savouring the town,
Becoming a storm then becoming the ash.
For some ashes never rise
And some birds never fly,
Some dreams that hide behind the closed doors of mind;
Some treasures are never found…