(1301) Se ek madhura smrti
He is the sweet memory,
Appearing ever-gleaming,
Every minute, splendid beauty.
On far shore of my ignorance,
Unbeknownst, He waits at love-tryst,
Every moment, every instant,
Every layer, dabbed with fondness.
Luminous, He is holy trance,
The boundless, lustrous ocean,
Beat after beat, little by little,
The ambrosial song, floating in.
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Every minute we meet once more, or so I seem to recall.
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