ONE.
Spring at last! The amuyas flare,
half-opened, trembling with bees.
A river of shadow flows through the grove.
I'm thrilled, dear trusted friend,
shocked by this pleasure-flame—
am I not a flame in his eyes?
His absence tears at me—
love blooms, and then spring
blows the petals from the world.
In my heart's grove the cuckoos pour out
a bewildering fountain of pleasure-drops,
jewels of the universe.
Even the bee-opened flowers mock me:
"Where's your lover, Radha?
Does he sleep without you
on this scented night of spring?"
I know he breathes secrets to you—
I can see their perfumes still dispersing
among the leaves of your longing.
Have I no memory of my own?
Besides, your head is full of flowers.
Go wait for him in the last shreds
of your innocence, crazy girl,
until grief comes for you.
