The One Who has come nigh,
He has snatched the sleep of my eyes.
Whether or not He has liked,
He's stolen my sense of "I".
Myself, through a sweet scent floral,
I obtain His heart's fragrance.
From the eastern mountain[1], with hue's beauty,
His Purvi thaat enters buoyant.
In the song and dance of world entire,
His love, with cadence, it resides.
Amid all of desire-and-find,
Everyone has He mesmerized.
Covertly, at my mind's inside,
Who knows even why He arrives!
Though uninvited, constantly does He rise;
He disregards any prohibition mine.
In the month of spring, on color's swing,
Elevated on a restless breeze,
He has raised me, gratified.
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Maybe He likes or maybe not; but, thankful, I am satisfied.
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