A silent wish to be lulled,
A verbal desire to sleep.
Rock my cradle with every breath I take.
I wake up every day
With a piercing pain so sharp,
And a fatigue never dying in my heart.
Oh! I want to have that thing called ‘peace’,
And tap my feet with the flapping of my wings.
Alas! I do not get what I seek,
Summers of solitude and autumns of worries make me weak.
Still I rise, I fall and again I rise,
From the murky clouds of uncertainty and surprise.
He, who makes me fall and rise,
Knows not that I possess the will to follow him
In this world or otherwise.