Still silence of deep night,
Ceaseless cry of the cricket,
Enthralling tune of flute winding afar,
Transports me back in my boyhood.
Beside the sandy aisle,
Beneath the shady peritonitis,
Muddy cattle -choir under head,
I lay in the grove upon the rusty
napkin- a perfect shepherd’s bed.
The wings of gentle breeze
Charioted me to the kingdom by fairy led.
Hundred ants tiny and mighty,
Hundred species crawled my skinny body.
The screech of cart pulled by bullock,
Or the noise of swirling wind,
Nor the winking rays of golden sun,
Through the burrows of leaky leaves
Could disturb that innocent slumber.
In the sanitized sky of autumn,
Foamy clouds float aloud. Sudden
shower of switching arrows,
Bereaves me the blessings of Somnus!