My Love

They said it, your love is a marigold And taking it for, I went to marigolds, Yellow, grey and blood-strained To find it out, How my love was exactly? They said it, your love is chrysanthemum And taking it, I went for as to collect Chrysanthemums, White, yellow, mixed and so on To seek for resemblances. My love, they said it, is a rose, Red-red, pink-pink, white-white, Fragrant and sweetly-perfumed, So natural, so sweet, A damsel was she standing speechlessly, Looking the stars. My love stood it spell-bound, awe-struck On marking the beauty of the young girl, The maiden standing before, Doing a carol, Who she as asked I, But responded she not that dream girl, Came it not the response? My love, said they, is exotic Indian flowers, Juhi, chameli, belli, gandharaj, raat-raani, kamini, seuli, Rajanigandha, And taking it, thought I of sleeping under the kamini plant And enjoying the whole mystical night, Wept I silently in feeling about her Under the seuli plant, The tiny seulis fallen and drenched in wet dew drops. The small belli bloom which she gave it to me Kept I with me, went I taking it Wherever went I, hidingly Keeping it in my shirt pocket, In my pants pocket, But said it not, Who gave it to me? My love, you do not know it, gentleman, My love is mine, only mine, not yours, My love mine, not yours, My feelings mine, your passion for love and living not. My love, mine, O, it is calling, O, it is singing a song, a love-song! It is singing a song nasally, Whistling and humming All through the hilly ways! The yellow-yellow champas taking the words from me And sitting under it, I dreaming, Sitting and passing the summer-time, The yellow and golden blooms, The fragrance of it carried by the wisps and whiffs of the wind, Blowing mildly. My flowers I want to give it to her, but fear I In giving to her, As because they may interpret it wrongly, And as I cannot, My flowers are only for the gods and goddesses to be given to, My flowers I want to give it to some English Or White European maidens for to be appreciated. In the groves and bowers, arbours Pastoral and wild and wooded, Sing I the songs, The songs of my love, O, my love is calling, O, where do lie you! In search of my love and life, Where have I come to My love you know it not, I know it not! Neither did you ask about it, Nor did I say it to you, What my love was like, what it was, I just went on dreaming, I just went on feeling, Singing, Whistling and humming the song of life, My love is calling me, O, it is singing a song near the hills Shining blue and thatches scattered!