Far down this dusty lane,

lies His scented grove;

where colourful flowers

dance to the whims

of fluttering butterflies…

where silvery fish

peep from between

the overgrown rice shoots;

It is there that

He waits.

the One who won over

all this world,

in three tiny steps of His.


The rain-laden clouds

are waiting for His smile,

to shower down upon us,

in their thundering mercy.

There in His grove,

the cowherds move;

lost amongst the trees,

enthralled in the music-

of His enchanting flute…

My heart can wait

no more to see

His handsome face;

Won’t you hurry, then,

my dear ones?


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