Seki bhabe gopan rabe, lukiye hriday kara;
Tar asha jaoa haoay dhaka, se je srishti chhara.
Will he Himself conceal
Only by my intuition to feel,
My heart to fob
Guise in the wind, exotic as He’ll lob?
In my heart His messages rouse,
On the foliages browse –
‘There He comes’; ‘there’
Our soul to stir.
With this self-flowering within self
In His décor my eyes delve –
In the songs of the bird
His footsteps are heard;
In the universal Veena’s* string
His myriad songs spring.
* Lute
Note: This is one of the Poet’s songs on Spring, the pleasantest season of the year when Nature wakes up to its supreme aesthetics. But Spring is short lived. Yet, within its elusive span the Poet perceives manifestation of Creation’s utmost wonder.
