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.