When the sun surges
to become a smelter,
and dew drops grow wings
to fly away,
to elope with fair winds.

 

When my mind is draped
in fear, and darkness
stands in many
forms to question
my being.

 

My guardian angel,
sweet, sweet guardian angel.
With your guiding staff,
ceaselessly ward off
formidable moments as these!

                          

Geeta Chhabra