It's a celebration

(1217)  Sona jhara e usay

Now, on this gold-dripping morning,
With honeyed throat the tattlers sing.
You are where, currently?

The pitch-dark night, whither has it gotten lost;
Faded has become the dark fog.
Today, the black curtain gets withdrawn.

Kadam pollen races toward the heavens;
A crazed peacock dances to the damru cadence.
There's no trace of despair at present.

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