burble of the running stream,
rustle of the rushing breeze,
birds clinging to their asylum,
and here i am about to freeze:

trying not to be sun of oblivion assaying myself in some frame
death could be my reincarnation, agonising, my ardous path to fame:

IBNI RASHID

fury which charred my soul red
abated with ashes all along

indiscretion now seemingly not mine
rail now no more evidently wrong

no more the music tasting melody
neither any remorse nor sad song

fancying am I here and now
apparently this is where I belong