Dripping water from faucet of heaven
pierced down the sky of my realm.
Last dream.
The sound went tip tip for two seconds and rimose creeped on my poise.
A fakir without head told me on my abrupt attention
"Find the sun,my son."

Old ragged converse from the stinky corners slipped out and hesitantly told
"You can't walk with me. You selfish rant"

The path was smooth to bore the hell out of me
From dawn to dusk I was among the rainfall of misty fumes
Slowly I vapoured too.I was informed
By voice unsung
"The sun shines only behind the clouds"
The dripping memories from faucet of heaven creaked inside me
I sublimed in absence of myself and words came out "what for?"

The  yellow ball of hot moraine bulbed out. The sun- it said, "What for"

The fakir without head spoke " the night is done"