Moonlit night it was,
Deep slumber everyone in;
But she alone was awake,
Yes, the lonely nightingale she was.
The moonlight silvered the leaves,
The cool breeze rattled them;
How beautiful you are,
“Oh Nature!” she whispered.
Neither friends nor foes had she,
Loved she, everyone and everything;
For her heart had no space,
But for passion and sympathy.
She loved the brook, the breeze,
The grass, the dewdrop, she adored;
Fascinated her, the blue skies,
The green waters thrilled her;
Overflowed with music, her mind,
The melody of flute made her ecstatic;
But the tinge of sorrow in her heart,
Who could explain, but her Lord?
The pain and agony was overwhelming,
Hit by arrows of words and deeds;
Suffered she everything,
Just by the boon of fortitude;
She smiled unfailingly, but
At times, the smile vanished, then
Was the shining tear drops in her eyes
The light in the path of her Beloved?
Her eyes strained to meet Him,
Though He was in her eyes;
She sang in her sweet voice calling Him,
Unknowingly, that He was her song;
The long waiting of hers was futile,
her Lord didn’t turn up;
But she still waits and sings for Him,
With a burning deisre to meet Him;
So He has to come and,
Bring Spring into her winter of Life;
For he is nothing, but an Ocean of Melody,
And She, the waves of Rhythm.