HOME
Peeping through the window at dawn,
I seek the aurora wrapping the peaks of Annapurna,
Adorned with the footsteps of Shiva,
In the first radiance of the day.
Morning chorus of drongo birds,
And some echos of temple bells,
Still evoke the sense of home,
Nothing but some scars of time.
The white silver turning gold,
With the sun reaching sunset hills,
Unleashing horses for some water,
Before resigning for the day.
Through the window,
I still hear the echo of cuckoo bird,
Like an itch,
In some old scars,
I still feel like going home.