Sleep slides down into a dream,
The dream peeps in, enters as melody.
Like fresh early morning breeze
fragrant by kisses of buds at ease.

I hear the music but don’t see the flute or flutist,
As I heard the saptaswaras of my mom,
while inside her safe pouch but not seeing
Her face, the soft hands or sweet kisses.

Had I seen her face, at times blooming but often shrunk
With pain, anxiety and prayers,
I would have broken her walls, reached her eyes
And removed the drops of tears.

Wonder what I would have done
Had I seen my own soul, well hidden
Will I allow it leave me for ever?
God commits mistake never!