In the end

(955)  Mor mana majhe ele rajara veshe

Dressed like a king, You appeared inside my mind,
With affection, a love of some special type.
Ground into dust was my pride,
In a trice, Lord, in the twinkle of an eye.

Not a peep do You make in the outer world;
Dwelling at the core of heart, You gave that a stir.
In Your contemplation, I was left abashed;
Granting embrace, You came at last, with enchanting laugh.

Having swung back and forth in restless winds,
Graceful pose was struck by the golden ivy of ambition.
On that creeper bloomed a flower at Your touch,
Eventually, after waiting very much.

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