It may be a ray of sunshine, but it seems like a ray of hope,
It may be just the chirping of the birds, but it seems like the chirping of a symphony,
It may be just water pouring, but it seems like the pearls showering,
It may be prosaic, but it is not.
I am sitting in a corner of this bliss,
Yet I feel surrounded by its eternity.
I am just writing a few words,
Yet I feel unburdened from the disorder.
I am looking outside the window,
Yet I see a life raveling and unraveling itself.
Fighting with the confusion and playing with the solution,
It may be prosaic, but it is not ecstasy.