I look for her
Who is closer to me than my own self.
I seem to hear her footsteps
In my burning desire.

Like the skylark, in unquenched thirst,
She pines for water in the parched
Sky of my mind
Like the chakor she steals into my dream
In soft, moon-lit night.

In the green foliage of my mind
I see her as the dark benevolent cloud..
In the sharp lightning-flash I find
Her as thunders roar aloud.

I sit in the bower I made
And garland my beloved;
But suddenly with a start I wake
And find it, alas, around my own neck.