In Search of Beloved

Just like the wild lupines gleaming
In the middle of the dark woods,
Hunting your sheen face hither and yon

While the scent from your shredded Pheran,
Is as afresh as a newborn lying in his
Mothers lap,

I call you from the mountains
Of Zabarwan and take rest by
The becks of Aharbal

Still I am ignorant about
Your whereabouts,

I eat from the stale and rotten
Fruits of the forest,

And ah! My worn-out soles
In the mid scorching Summer.

O my love,
I have come to make you mine
Or else, I’ll be buried here in this land.