Every time when the wind carries itself
From here to there,
In the midst of the grey,
The trees welcome its grace
With gossips and claps.
And the sky that roofs this
Earthly sight
Steams up in delight and pours out the pearls.
The land rejoices upon the gifts showered from the heaven
And tunes out soft happy melodies.

Thunder, that courses through the distant horizons
Declares its presence now and then
And swiftly in a flash, traces- in its divine light;
The play of the dark
That has long reigned the night.

The little tree
with the soft breeze, it danced free
Amused; at the tales
the breeze brought, it felt
The little tree had a dream
the desires of happy brim
To be like the red tree
from faraway place and have its roots free.

A calm weary voice comes from the corner:
'Freedom is the death of mourner.
We want the pain inflicted upon us to fade,
The time heals it all, after we're dead.'

I wish to get soaked in the rain,
and dry my flesh by the sunlight.
When the day gets too bright,
I want it to be hit upon by the night.

I wish to be carried away
by the wind,
here and there; wherever it takes,
I don't mind.

I wish the ground to hold me,
very tight.
So that when I fall,
I could still stop my flight.