My Old Book of Dreams

A thought profound

A belated sound

Embracing of the pain ethereal.

I set to flames

Those dusty lanes

The sacred perishing now I feel.

The dreams of old

stained clothes I hold

To Agni I commit and now reveal.

I burn my old book of dreams

And write them down all anew.

The pages yellowed were so full

My dreams are now but a few.

The fire burnt, and it burnt well

reflecting my soul, a drop of dew.

These ashes of the old, I oughtn’t hold

From the ashes, the phoenix, born anew.