Though it's my own, Hardly I guess,
How would my room seem in my absence

Ever dwelling loneliness, There maybe
Lay across my bed seeing the mirror
Sun-drawn arts of window, could
Wander as like on the walls and floor
Daffodils on the wide open pot, perhaps
Be at the prayer to the dancing Krishna

The pleasing scent of bath room, Could
Be talking to the dripping drops in silence
About the nudes ever watched
The unheard melodies of curtain, Should
Wake the soul of the room up again

But whenever I enter into my room
Even that just seems as how was left