By the river's bed
I sometimes sleep
midst the rustling of the leaves,
And as the waters
go drifting by
the river with me grieves.
 
For that which with Time flies
never again to return,
Strange
that immortality should lie
in ashes in an urn.
 
The starlit nights of yesteryears
now all but a fading dream,
Like the ripples 
that come and go vanishing
from the stream.
 
The stillness
in the air around
and the quiet that silence brings,
Deep down in my heart somewhere
a fulfilled voice sings.
 
Why live in the past , Ashok,
And grieve over that which has gone,
Tales told and stories old
Is the fate of all who are born.

(The author is a prolific poet who has over 30 poetry books to his credit. He can be reached at ashoksawhny06@gmail.com/ www.ashoksawhny.com)