Some angel would descend
Many times I have not lived
As much I wished
In a glass house
But then every now and then I lost my way
Some angel would descend to show me
Where to go
How to be a strenuous stickler for the hopes
That many nurtured through the oars
I sculpted out of wood
Of an old tree
Under which we had played once
Without any fears and doubts
Which now has turned into a boat
And oars
Now, either come on board, ride the waves
And surrender to the swings of streams
Or just sink
Swallow
And then quietly descend on the bed
Of a deep river
So that fishes could live,
And make the water clean