As I walked in the darkness of the evening, I thought that at the end of this day a dear young face in a wretched house does not light the evening lamp and look down the road with its 'black-eyed pitiful desire'.
Stained with my own pain and anger, Jal Sandhya at the western door of heaven, they looked at my face with their tear-filled eyes and agreed to that statement.
As he walked along the silent path of the membrane-stained field, the weary thought, – 'Only that one evening star understands your pain!'
This evening star appeared in front of him like a piece of fresh cut-collage, but he would understand how much chest-splitting pain began to oppress him at that time.
Nothing is heard in the empty bosom of this dirty field, Only where a 'dusty-furry' whistles in the evening nest, And sings the bowl song, And its fine silk flies and touches my caress!
One by one they are gathering in Asman's courtyard, so many dormant words, many hidden memories are emerging one after another in my mind.
I can't count the number of ways I remember the same words, the same pain.
Yet again and again the word and the pain will wake up!
My mind will take this pain
241.405 SRY0