On my memory a pillar broke and crashed, grass grew on my voice, the cows grazed and gave milk to the children o the earth; in the throats of the children my voice sprouted as poems - and gold fainted on them; god entered Kalidas and washed his hands with tears
I heaped up all the drops of my tears like oceans of rose on the table, gold in the west looked at them and killed itself
Here beams of light do not let my dreams sprout I will grow them in the dark earth of distant worlds. I will go into my grave
With storms of gold I wash my grave; I adorn it with the wings of centuries. I fill it with famed suicides . I cut my head overflowing with locks of light and, placing it in a bejeweled platter offer it
From it drop red red roses like evening, like children like ladies of Olive races