On Shravan's night with winds stormy,
He had come secretly.
No word did He speak, there'd been a hush;
With love had He peered.
Upon two lips had been a smile,
Ridding the gloom of rainy night,
As if declaring: "Love do I,
And so on night of ruin I've appeared."
Amid clouds of dense ebony,
Unspoken is the sound that peals.
In darkness He is splendor's stream;
Into His flow, He propelled me.
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Ever He comes privately on the eve of destruction.
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