A dream of naught, a silent sea,
Where wants and wishes cease to be.
No hunger pangs, no thirst's demand,
A soul adrift in barren land.
No yearning heart, no aching mind,
Just peace profound of every kind.
A cosmic sleep, a tranquil art,
Detached from world, a distant part.
Yet, in this void, a question stirs,
Is emptiness where solace occurs?
Or does the soul, in absence deep,
A longing echo, faintly keep?
For in the void, might not reside,
A seed of hope, where dreams abide?
Perhaps to need is life's true art,
To feel desire, to mend the heart.