On the smooth drawing paper in the eastern sky
Each colour character was creating a drama
And my little world became open like panorama,
When every bird was saying me a cordial bye.
A gentle breeze flitted away my sorrow
In freeness, my heart lifted it up
My lips felt a warmness with a chai supped,
At last, the low fireball said, “again on the morrow!”
Abruptly the blue-dark brought a dense silence
Then all the burning starts had switched the light on
The white’s scars reflected on the black water in the lawn,
Joy and woe roam here and there over the territorial fence.
I did a futile endeavour to count those countless stars
But in fine, I had perceived your entire supreme arts.