This wreath of songs I've threaded,
As I'll make You wear it, Dear.
I wet it with ambrosial essence,
Evening colors, watered by tears.
It moves swaying to and fro, like an earring
At base of stamen on lotus of psyche.
Forgotten is distinction of friend and enemy,
Eyes having raised up unblinking.
Eyes have opened, having broken sleep;
At shrine of mind, light has appeared.
A deep-blue sky has spread wing,
Feathers of a remote goose beneath.
Sarkarverse article
Audio recording
My Love, an air-borne goose am I; it's Your wind that carries me nigh.
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