in the purest hope of spring.
My yearning heart rises to your violin voice
and leaps like a dear at the whisper of your name, Rukmoni
The evening ascends in on a great peacock’s wing.
I am calmed by your grace that I carry into the twilight of honey beams
and hold next to my lips.
I am filled with hope that I may dry your tears of sorrow
As my gaze falls on my wrist, it reminds me of your promise
In the hushed, I listen for the last high noise of the spring.
My heated mind leaps to my head gear. I wait in the crystal moonlight
for your secret dream so that we may carry as one, heart to heart, in search of the glorious blue and spiritual fruit of love.