What
I seek is not to be found
Because
my desires burn dim,
Like
the beauty of the flower
When it shrinks.
The
breeze is fragrant, the sun warm;
The
spiralling stalks of the vine
Wear
a sunny, green covering;
The
shadows stretch; the cushion
Is the sleek, spawning grass.
Beside
the brushing brook I repose
To bathe in her eyes’ dusk.
What
is this?...After this?…Tender dream?
Would
my desires
Find
their end in the ash?
–SUBHAS CHANDRA
SAHA