Night, one of the babbling of "aakaasganga*
sleep, the spine of sands awaits ever
dream, the wish of the ancient river
the voyage pulls, like the freaky star-dust
the dream knows everything, and,
so much is known to the flow

only after the ship-wreck
the self-critic awakes
"why this much ardent desires stuffed?"

for sailing, surely, the load is not "the need"

get drowned once
get wounded once
it is realized how to be valor
how to defeat the humility

a little soft drop, the seed in the fruit of soul,
a tiny sweet brook spreads
like the flow of human emotions in veins
gifting you the feel of the first navigator

that eternal smile of "aakaasganga"
that is poetry
that only is the art !

*aakaasganga=== the river of heavens , milky-wave.