I see your colors; I feel your aroma,
Believe me sweet heart I am in a coma.
I can’t see anyone I can’t listen to someone,
I have lost my existence at the moment I’m none,
When you touch a branch that is green with leaves,
You steal something like the clever thieves
The shy branches say touch me not,
Who wrote this appealing and romantic plot?
The branches when smile, sing a song unsung,
Colorful and fragrant flowers sprung,
Where is guitar? Who is playing on it?
I wish could snatch His lasting writ!
He smiled and said in you I am hidden,
Your beloved is guitar no more forbidden,
She is sitting on the grass at the bank of canal,
Below the trees so dense and tall,
Bending on water with the load of charms,
Their image resembles with your beloved’s arms,
Go and touch her tuned strings,
Spring has given her two lovely wings,
She can sing she can dance and she can fly,
With love and beauty in the high sky,
What you need just touch the strings,
See magic and music of windy springs.