In quiet slumber I went once more to Gilgit,

That hearthly mud cabin where I was born.

To feel again the gentle softness of the snow drops,

like dew that's gathered on the wafting clouds.

To bid the sun farewell and watch the mist creep,

slowly o'er a Mount Goliath of my birthplace in Kashmere.

To see the stately weeping willows gently dip,

rippling cool pristine waters of a Mighty River in view.



To watch the graceful swans,

glide by in silent beauty undisturbed.

To hear the sweet song of the lovely lark,

soaring on high above the blue skies.

To recall to mind the mavis and the thrush,

seeing again the fields of a harvest moon light.

To tread again in dreams of many long-forgotten paths,

(with a heart that's feather light)

running amongst the bonnie purple heather of my past.



To once again be one with folks I n'er knew or know not,

rejoicing in the wonders of my Paradise lost.

To give thanks for the wonderful gift of rekindkled memories,

Against the molten distant Dal Lake in balls of flame and fire!