a pinch of spring 
n a feeling of lost delight
a discontent about things not done,
a desire to dream
n the inability to perform 
always caught unaware
in a whirlpool of perplexity
is it my oldage or
incomprehensible ambiguity?
i whisper to myself about myself
when u stretch out like a vast
sky of rosy hue
bathed in fresh dew

ur unimaginable beauty
haunts like
a retreating star
provoking a rising sun
r u n i ?