In dust your writings wallow
Its letters obscure, no more aglow;
Alone I sit in the spring night,
Do I then again sight
In the woods your scribbling
There in the budding seedling
Your lost letters errant
Re-appear no less significant.
Abound the Mallikas* in the bower
Their fragrance in the air to shower
At Your touch tender
Brings to mind from yonder
Your nostalgic script
That does the farewell pain depict.
There in the Madhabi* branch sway
Your old scripts of the remote day.
* These are Indian flowers.
Note:
The anecdote that goes with this song is, one day the Poet saw a piece of paper with his writings blown away by the wind. This simple incident was enough for him at once to visualize the temporality of the finest aspects of life. Yet, the truth that he perceives is, the return of seemingly lost in its eternally new form and that God’s aesthetic scribbling all around us in Nature or life at large cycle into oblivion and re-appearance.
