(863) Rager madhurii haraye phelechi
Music's sweetness I've let drop;
With but its trace in memory I soldier on.
Tuning my lute to the melodic octave,
Fixedly I gaze in Your direction.
Those tunes once stored within my throat;
Today, they're all removed, very remote.
Their lingering resonance, its power to enchant,
Even now, in song and dance, I know.
By the rhythm You roused in the heavens,
You've deluged me with what palpitation?
In its very pulse and beats,
I dance incessantly, according to their oscillation.
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Even though I barely remember, I can only dance to Your tune.
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