On the vine of mortality,
endlessly spreading-
every moment, on the tree of time,
we are blooms,
with eye catching hues,**
gradually wither and fall,
as foot falls of death come near,
in the harsh summer of life.

But there isn't any fear,
divine fragrance of immortality,
in every bloom will remain, for ever,
the wind of cosmic bliss wound gather,
the fragrance of all blooms withered,
and scent the immortality's garden,
where new blooms, once effulgent beings,
now stars of paradise,
beam their golden  light for ever.

They would vie with each other,
to adorn that eternal scent exquisite,
to make it their own, and to be gratified.