Come brother, come, this is the age of Gorilla.
Come eat, I have served storms on your plates, let us eat and grow to the size of the titanic moment awaiting us why linger there? They are not rays but beams of moonlight which will crash on your head.
Do not waste time, comforting those cuckoos living in isolation – the breeze frolicking anointed with pollen is flying in the gardens, whether it can carry the weight of birds or the weight of songs , I do not know , but as for Chaitra , it has no time even to weep.
See, there he comes, sauntering along the banks of little brooks, teaching them songs to sing. The child –waters, swallow his songs and leap forward roaring into the forest: in the autumnal gardens, the last leaf hanging from the branch in mid-air, senses the weight of its life and considers its relationship to the arriving spring.
The new winds coming from all directions
Enter all the crevices of my body; my bones turning into flutes, my nerves into sitars, break out into wild tunes,
In my eyes appear the future generations like families of hens and cocks pecking with their beaks, the grain of light sprinkled by the morning.