In the evening a little bit of music a little bit of darkness
A little bit of wine a little bit of waiting a little tension are essential,
Otherwise it is a leafless moment.

Call me, that a flower blossomed I visited the flower
It was sunrise I folded my hands unawares and submitted
Myself to its radiance.
Some one, whose voice was the birthplace of cuckoos, was singing aloud.

The rose, which was leaning elegantly, on a leaf of a stalk in a vase
Was like a melody which turned its profile heavenward
For uttering the note of pancham; in that moment each one of its
Petals is pregnant with secrets worth a hundred commentaries-

It is now when time confers this aesthetic twist on the mind
And the whole grandeur of the evening appears in its pristine nakedness
Before you. Then it dawns on consciousness that waterfall is not
The downfall of water, and that a tear is not the symbol of sorrow.
You feel that the star which bloomed in the leaves of the west,
Is the sister of the blue sky.
I am a soul make of glass, who cannot bear the blue gaze of the sky-

I lost myself in some labyrinths of multidimensional hues;
The ravishing feeling of beauty is like a knife plunged into my flesh,
Sometimes it tears away a big chunk of myself-
In that experience when the boundaries between happiness and sorrow vanish,
I am filled with the most beautiful orgy of torture and death-
In fact that evening another flower had set-
- Seshendra Sharma