Kiss me, oh spring

Of the elapsed moonlit sonata

Kiss me oh time to play mystic dime

Sing the last spring of begotten sonata

Kiss me in the melancholy of the spring

Kiss the tide that fails to sing
Kiss the glum of the winter old bride
Kiss the sway of the early morning tide.

Kiss the fruits that are yet to blossom.

When the drudge befalls the extinguishing light

When the darkness kindles in the mystic bright.

There is but one place to ponder

Spring is a season you accept

Or appreciate its splendour.

May the ‘Holi Colours’ enchant you to that Divine light
I am an astute fool not to see the bright.