going back to the wet long nights,
to the endless lingering
and perhaps to the final days of my own life
who knows it all?
Rain drops forging patterns in the sacred pond
Dawns are still beautiful
as they give hope to meet your eyes
somewhere among that silent crowd
making their way to the temple
On a Sunday after the mass
somewhere there around the Church
Or may be on a Friday afternoon
Who knows where you are!
I have to tell you something...
that I am scared
During nights like this when my sleep's fled
and restlessly roaming somewhere there
I smell the freshly brought jasmine flowers
hear the drums and see the vermilion marks
I can feel the uneasiness of my caretakers
Oh before I got handed over
I must meet you
and tell you that
this is not what i want.
