gurujib

GAME OF SONGS [after R.N.Tagore]
esspeecee

Standing you’re
On the opposite bank
of my song,
Ambulant my tunes become
Me, don’t get you.

Breeze is blowing
Oh, oh excellently
Keep anchored the boat
no more.
Cross and come, O Dear
into the abode of my bosom.

Game of songs with you
game of distance is,
Me in agony play flute
all the time,
When, O Dear yourself will come
take my flute,
to play,
In the dense darkness of
rapture-full silent night.