He, lived with me, white man,
Dancing, skimming, swinging,
And his body overstretched on primroses!

On the dandelions he climed,
On the walls he skidded,
On the grass he slumped,
On the boughs he slep,
In my orchard, my guest!

With stealthiness-footfalls
He peeped in through windows,
And my drowsy-drunk body caressed!

He welcomed butterflies,
He whispered to birds, passing by,
He made my Bulbul, the nightingale, his buddy,
And lost in her mellifluous lyrics!

He hugged the world,
He hugged my soul too,
He loved apples,
He kissed the lilies!

Ah! Things are bound to farewell,
As time scratches their beauty,
And they slide into nothingness!

Oh! His journey is over,
He is going to the house of the moon!

Only I, with sobs smearing,
Is in the lawn to see him off!
O butterflies, O birds, O Bulbul,
Play the requiems,
Winter is going, dying,
Our friend is going, dying!