Where can those days go Ammaji,
Where could my exiled years ever take them?
Thousands of years of our Indian blood,
Fixed in our souls, forever.
Where Ammaji, are the warm, Indian evenings
Evenings you sat sewing, embroidering.
The days of sugar cane and pomegranates,
Shopping with Akhtar your treasured brother.
Days of living in love,
Days of comfort,
Your 'Keren Shemesh.'
Days when you learned the dance
Days so carefree, filled with hope.
Where can these days go Amma,
These days when you yearned
Your Lalaji's love,
Days of comfort,
Your 'Keren Shemesh'.
Your Princess Cinderella, she dances
Your 'Keren Shemesh',
a longed for, distant, memory
Yet alive in her, her blood, her soul...
Locked in the cold, dark, wet room
Here in England, the land of your thankfulness
Your little darling, she dances.
Controlled and terrorized, yet she dances.
Up, down, flying, your little child,
Secretly, she dances.
Fragile, tender arms, reaching out
Yet rejecting all sorrow, she dances
Touching the dream here and now,
Instead of always waiting for tomorrow...
And through the window is shining
Her beautiful, beautiful, 'Keren Shemesh'.
Oh my 'Keren Shemesh'.
It really is all right.
Up, down, flying, I danced for you
Up, down, flying, I danced with you.
Always there I know,
For where would you think to go?
And here you remain,
My 'Keren Shemesh'.
It really, really is all right. |
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