My poetry, I know, he loves
He has received more than what he gave.
In the songs I have sung
He has heard it again and again
How his spring flowers whisper in the air
In rainy nights
To him I have also sung
How loneliness and separation pain
And when in moonlit nights
Like a shadow I have moved about
Among the sal groves in bloom
Humming my unfinished songs
In silent footsteps
He has moved about with me
As eager as the bending boughs
To hear me playing my flute to his tunes.
And when in my beloved's passionate liquid eyes
In gathering darkness in the dead of night
Silent pain has stood
And looking at her I have silently sat in flickering light
Holding her hands in mine
Then my maker has waited in the starlit skies
To hear the lyre's tunes
In which he calls all to the final tryst.