Glimmering would be
a masked light of the day not too bright
and a dimness of the night not too dark.
Among the flashes of reminiscences
the imaginations with theirs back upon me.
The door at my feet
would stand mute, chewing silence.
The bangles would be sounding
like divinities.
With her hair left ruffled
how bitterly would she be crying?
Yet, I would be in samaadhi.*
Fire would leap up towards the sky.
She, surviving like a trickle of tear,
under the serene sky,
I, burning in the crackling fire,
Or they, breaking into laughter;
which one is perfectly true?
They would start for dhaam**
with the remains of my body.