The sun peeping up the eastern dale -
A golden disk emerging through the greenery -
Beacons Usha, 'how long, how long?'
'Let there be light,' and was there light!
The amazing breeze slackens nightly garments,
All the seedlings, Bat, Taal, Tamal, sportive;
Who knows how they turn olive into emerald,
Ay, you see, the roofy arcade beams with green!
A long ride! The sun attains its age,
An antalgic gait through the gory highway,
A crimson birth, at the gate of clamorous brine,
A magical revelation at its westerly couch.
As it sets in, engulfed by the nocturnal hallows,
The sun also rises against the crooked masts of gallows.
