Gone to the days of sun, and the stars hidden in light,

Gone to the days
Of light,
As the day breaks
With new journeys to the world
And to the home,

Gone to the days
Of holy torch,
As the day blooms
With newer pictures, paints, non stop
And those stars hidden in light,

Gone to the days
Of the guitar
Strummed at Ghalib
Street in my city,
musically near,

Gone to the days
Of Reynolds'
The shop with a glass door
Opening to beats of heart, a splendid drum,

Gone to the days
Of catching the bus,
From your abandoned terminus,
With painted brush working there wonders...