On the road I was, travelling,
When I encountered spring
In the guise of a boy,
Sitting on a roadside park’s railing;
He was, perhaps contemplating-
These shrubs here,
Will bear the champa flowers!
Back from work when Malati comes,
In her hair she will weave, some.
And where are the marigold plants?
Orange and yellow, in a riot will appear
When the marigolds bloom
In the park’s corners.
I will also aid
in blooming the violet Nayantaras.
The girl at the tea-shop on the pavement
Will pluck them to weave a Garland
While at play.
With my flowers will the morning bloom.
Their fragrance will the night inhale.
My flowers will be love’s offering.
Their vivacity will dispel life’s suffering.
In this city of grey concrete and black smoke,
Amidst this land of green, saffron and red,
In this city’s park,
I have to create a bloom,
shades and hues
Different and new.
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