Some days on a summer turf
I remind myself that the leaves
Will blow into effervescence as a sudden freeze
As flowers do under the grey sky of winter

Bushes will rustle in the wind
The heat will turn into sorrow and sadness
As the rain pours and pours into a drenched blemish
Like there is no tomorrow for us to furnish our existence on

Like an Indian river that flows
Till there is an end to freedom
Waiting for God to conquer it, everyday
As it tows the sand and rests in the bay