The boat docked at this wharf one day
it’s speed was like the breeze of fresh spring.
You called me and asked
‘do you have an identity,
where will you go?’
I just replied,’who knows!’
The river swayed,the rope was pulled__
Alone I sat and sang a painful song of my youth.
hearing that song
young men and women under the flowered tree
picked the red flower__
gave it to me and responded,’ he is our acquaintance.’
this was my first introduction.
Then during flood-tide
the game of ripples was completed;
song of the fatigued cuckoo
brings to mind the discourse of the days gone by;
the sweet smelling flowers falling,
floating far away,
are the remains from the previous night’s merriment
with the pull of the ebbing tide
the boat flows away towards the ocean.
the new passengers, boys and girls
call from far away,
‘watching the evening star
who are you rowing the boat?’
I pulled the string of my sitar,
sang once more,
‘let my name be known as,
and nothing else___
let this be my last introduction.’