(1464) Vasante mor phulavane priya
In spring in my floral garden, Love,
You came not... why did You not come?
Blooms have withered, and petals have fallen;
Nectar's intoxication You got not.
For braid-bun I am stringing a garland,
The part in my hair with oleander I've adorned–
On earlobes I have dangled silk-tree's flower–
Yet, having come, You looked not.
Now sitting neath ashok tree's shade,
A song I am composing for only Your sake.
Spring left, and summer came...
After so many days, there was compassion.
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Other than the season, perhaps it was my focus.
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