When the clock strikes seven,
Bells toll to remind,
Flames die down in the oven,
It is time to unwind.

Whole day floating near dusk,
Scrambled as ripples seen,
Day starts afresh,
Yesterday in the nearest bin.

What would happen,
If the day went on,
Endless nights and endless days,
Neither life nor death.

We in the horizon of death and life,
Must unwind at the brink of night. 

Hare Om.