In our unknowing countdown of days,
There is a feverish fervent of searching,
|(Bangkok October 2013)|
Of what, the heart knows not.
And yet it flutters, it longs,
For that resounding thump-thump,
Signalling the finding of the definite.
Until then, it dwells,
It wastes away,
Time flies by, and yet we stand,
Still like the waters of the murky Yamuna,
Choked and bogged down.