A soft terrain of muddy grass
in dying hue of the evening
Its wet texture, softening
enters the ground deeper
reaching the breath too
as if dew to dull limbs
It stretches forth
falls back at times
moves forth again
A hopeful pendulum but mortal clock
of these countable years
shading the memories darker
The lullaby the mother sang
in the days gone by
until the winter mornings
her shivering self
comforting the daughter in warm quilt
Songs of the night so warm
Mother lays mercilessly
on this muddy grass
though a soft terrain
shivering again till the winter morning
lays cold to death
the daughter, who cannot be seen
A harsh domain of the mad world
In oblivion, in illusion
Soft appearing, but stubborn
enters no heart
reaching no breath
As if a scented dead limb..
