Walking on the path,
tirelessly wooing her,
effortlessly she slips away,
Time dances to her tune..
winds abide by her,
seasons wait at her feet,
gyrating movements of the cosmos
is but a stretch of her hand,
colours are but a slave to her command,
seekers search her,
while yogis meditate on her feet...
Cueless to her powerful enigma,
I run courting her,
crying in vain to draw attention-
I call out.... 'Mother'...
'Time dances to her tune.. winds abide by her, seasons wait at her feet, ' And 'colours are but a slave to her command, seekers search her, while yogis meditate on her feet...' Are wonderful depictions. A great effort.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
thanks....for the read