Today..

These evenings are different,
these evenings in white and fray.                                Those days much as I adored,
those robes and quivers in grey.
At one and another I knew,
This halt is where dont stop.
At one and another I did,
To gaze at raised, to crop.
It all has raised to different,
It all has evolved in being.
It stares from inside the mirror,
much as, to be a human being.
I used to write for tomorrow,
Few poems before I went in bed,
I still sleep and wake with the dawn,
But the poet in me is dead.