I fell asleep
In middle of the night
Or perhaps it was a day
Feigning the darkness.

There was a beggar
At my tapped door
Begging for a silver spoon
Or perhaps for a pot of gold.

A limpid long life
Like flow of a river
Descending into the dust
Perhaps in harassed fever.

If I was asleep
Who was the other I ?
Cajoling, decreeing
Perhaps a child with a dagger

Or a painted being in swagger.
Days come and go
But the sun without a race
Soulful of its luminosity
In a jocund dark space.

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