Every morning is like a glorious dream in Lucknow nowadays. Clouds, mist, often a light rainshower, and symphony on wings. When the tender rays of the orange rising sun gently wake me up, I should marvel at this atmosphere. But for some reason the early morning joy is not as much as this picturesque scene warrants. These lines have been playing in my mind for a couple of days and they explain the reason perfectly -

The dream that is this morning
Glides in from the door
Waltzes in from the windows
But the dream that was in my arms
Vanishes with my sleep
Disappears with the night