The Final Call


Who is she, knocking at my door at this hour of the day
When king of the day has abdicated the throne and moon has conspired for it.
I am yet to kindle the lamp in front of my lord.
I am in two minds, whether to open the shackles of the door for her
Or like a wanton wind let her pass-by.
Something mysterious is hanging in air that is beyond my understanding.
The colors fail to give it a character and it has an outlandish feeling
The gongs of faraway temple bell are yet to soothe my quivering self.
Am afraid that sooner or later she will hold my skinny hands
And take me far away through that unknown fountain of bright fairy lights.
I know not whether that shall be eternal or a mere part of my absolute destination.

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