The Voice

Lying over the pillow of my fulfilled dreams,

I open my eyes to this cold, starless night.

Interrupted by an utterance from the chilly wind streams,

The voice enquiring me about the road leading to light.

Startled, I ask the voice to walk away from my occupied corner,

It stays to grow in the form of translucent dew over the green grass.

The directions had to come from me, the silent mourner,

Clueless, tired was I, pointed him fingers to an unknown marsh.

It disappeared from the surface to travel the unknown path,

Back to my undesired solitude,

I recall my journey to the road leading to light.

How my voice had kissed some one’s night?

Till then, I wait for that voice to return from the marsh,

Happily speaking to me, for it had traversed the road unknowingly