This fire of the summer evening,

if it glows like burnished gold

in faces of strange women,

what light must play on Her face!

The koel's song with plaintive notes,

if it pierces like a spear

the hearts of those who are strangers to love,

how deep its wound in My heart!

A quilled evening

Summer clouds gather and gossip

Sordid secrets of a sultry sea.

Wanton wind wanders mad

in search of sweet petrichor.

Golden trees gasp in eternal pain.

Mute Atlases holding up the primal silence.

Dulcet evening smears her golden glow

on every stranger's beautiful face.

Sultry sweat trickles down

flirting with the breeze and skin.

Dusty roads raise dusky sighs

fading into empty footsteps.

All of this stays painted still

in the ripples of my quill.