MY HEART FEELS shy to bring to your vagrant mind the lyric of my secret lest its meaning be missed and its rhythm. I shall wait for some auspicious hour when the evening is compassionate, your eyes drowned in its tender dimness, and my voice reaches you in a profound calm of truth. I shall turn my secret round and round through my whisper at a lonely corner of your heart, even as the cricket among the silent sal trees turns single-toned beads of its chirping in the rosary of night.
I THOUGHT I had something to say to her when our eyes met across the hedge. But she passed away. And it rocks day and night, like a boat, on every wave of the hours the word that I had to say to her. It seems to sail in the autumn clouds in an endless quest and to bloom into evening flowers seeking its lost moment in the sunset. It twinkles like fireflies in my heart to find its meaning in the dusk of despair the word that I had to say to her.
