Tuesday, January 14, 2020

What You are to me

(1481)  Tomare ceyechi puspamadhuriite

Yourself have I wanted
In the sweetness of a flower;
Spreading-bakul by the path,
The black bee loves that.
I have obtained Thee
In the shade of a tree...
On the way, stricken by summer's heat,
A pilgrim comes with that hope only.

The import You keep offering, Lord,
It never lets me stay indoors.
Unto far azure mind races off,
Desirous of that love.

Eternally, You're the One Most Dear,
Bondage-free Epitome.[1]
Everybody comes and goes by Your mercy,
Dances all around Thee.

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1 comment:

  1. Not a person, place, or thing, no noun or adjective can capture it.