The night is soaring on the lordly sky;
Be there no fear for either low or high:
For Banyan ours is ready to defend,
Be it a fiend or some demanding friend.
And on some rocky land its legs does lie,
But never does it ask to me to die.
Its leaves stand there with all the faith they’ve got,
It never ceases t’ love in nature’s plot.
Be air of solitude the tree’s best mate,
It never changes mind and its own fate.
Be it the arrows of the de'il himself,
It ne’er does droop or tend to change its self.
I keenly stare from window mine its forms,
Its ever-growing gratitude like storms:
There stands the Banyan void of every trend,
There stands the Banyan, filthy souls, to mend.
And high above our heads there stands the same,
Of purest soul; no chanting human name.
(De'il means Devil) .