TO THE WINDS

My voice is choked in the throat,
Unable to utter a word,
If uttered, the vultures of voice snatching are hovering in the air,
Dear winds, enter into my mud home silently,
Not to awake oppressors.

I will tell you my story to be taken to my beloved,
Who lives in the mountains, after renouncing the world.
She doesn’t care for me, but I do care for her.
Her ears are unused to melodious tones now,
But my tone is from my heart.

Do tell her that I care for you.
Her precious rings are stored, so are her braids.
If you promise, I can handover everything of her to you,
To be taken to her.

I know she will throw them away,
But I will feel contended that I am the one among many to love her.
Oh, winds! Like little swallow, remain with her for a night.

Tell me her habits.
How she looks now.
How she raises and downs her eyes.
Her sleep is intoxication.

Winds, do take my message.
Her thoughts are spreading fragrance.
What if she is to come!
Winds, do go and visit her.