Beneath this same blossoming champak tree,
Hey the Most Beloved,
You'd appeared, You had appeared.
In color of teak and liking the clothing,
You'd smiled through teeth pearl-dropping.
That day's tale I won't be able to ignore;
It does not get erased, that date's memory-song.
On moonlit night, on gust of madhavii
That lunar day makes ardent at split moment in a jiffy.
With that date mingled are a hundred thoughts;
With that date has gone on a honeyed sensation.
In that date's dance and song, sweetness heaven brings,
Throbbing in heart and mind upon a breeze of fancy.
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Your memory stirs yearning.
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