Above the pillow, in the head

Mariyam Hashmi 

As my hand goes through my hair
Many a strands fall off,
If it were upto the pillow of mine
My age would be counted in dreams
The many dreams i had,
The many i narrated,
The many i kept to myself,
Often the lantern in my heart
Runs out of oil,
And often so it is He
Who kindles where He resides,
A dreaming heart
That dreams for a meeting with Him,
Every morning that arrives me,
A rose petal of gold
I chase all dream long,
Only to know here I was the Midas
This was my dream,
He gave me the power,
For a tomorrow begotten,
Before the fog clears
I foresee a trail of thoughts
Entangling with a million may be nots
But a dream with a gold touch
Is what a hopeful life is.

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