On this same rain-washed evening,
With the screwpine pollen, love goes a-floating.
Leaping o'er the enclosure of known and unfamiliar,
Mind's peacock races toward infinity.
Today in the kadam bower swaying has begun;
In the bamboo grove, verdancy has come.
Grass brownish-red, a fresh green it has turned;
Inundating both banks, faraway the stream goes missing.
In a niche of home, seated alone, I go on singing;
None else be retained, it's You Whom I'd make hear.
Mid the sound of a rainstorm, I find a melody;
Outside and in, it brims over, greatly satisfying.
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Sunday, December 18, 2022
I find You amid misery
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So, Lord, please go on torturing me!
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