Singing the poem, enchanted through ages,
Captured by its verses, a timeless spell,
Why does the nectar of sweet songs end,
When the moonlight’s residue still dwells?
Whose laughter adorns the moon’s face?
Whose infinite abode lies beyond the sun?
Whose imagination weaves love’s sweet tale,
In stars that sparkle and flowers that run?
Adorn your eyes with a wreath of flowers,
Bind the fillet of youth on your brow,
Usha arises at the edge of the horizon,
For whom is this eternal fortune now?
Like a golden hue on ripened rice,
Madness today, the poetic fairy gleams,
Transformed into a fluttering butterfly,
Resting on earth where green grass teams.
