In the illumination of the blue sky,
on such a day
who has entered my mind?

The forest trees of ashoka and palash smile,
forgetting their agonies.

In the restless wind, the pollen of flowers floats on.
With empowering sound,

the cuckoo sings in its characteristically rustling voice.

With the vibrating sound of ankle bells,
and in the oblivion of agonies,
who has filled all with irresistible vitality?

Into the black decoration of my eyes,
and the humming of memoirs,
who has come,
with the darkness-shattering application
of colour and melody?