In time,there will be peace,there will come new autumns
There will be pigeons cooing in the hollows of that old house in decay
The little girl next door,with her June eyes,will sing again
She will whim her way through the literature
As her father plays Tagore on the sitar
You will wear the little smile that you borrowed from your mother
You will hum an old relic along with your grandfather
You will run barefoot through the verandahs of your home
As the spring sun will gnaw on your skin
There will come a time when forgetting will not be a sin
And no one will remind you of battles lost at noon
And no one will remind you of tales of putting up your conscience for sale
In time, there will be peace
There will come spring rain