In hand a wreath of champak and Spanish cherry,
By the path I'd been standing and waiting,
Expecting Your coming.
By the time You arrived the night was dense,
My garland of flowers, tarnished then.
Cosmetics upon eyes, with wet tears
Were they combined resultantly.
I won't thread another thick string of flowers,
Nor will I organize a welcoming basket.[1]
Holy rice painting with fantasy,
Into one will I weave.
Sarkarverse article
Audio recording
Well, Mister God, that's the very last time I wait for You... maybe.
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