The eternal flute

In the meadows of Braj,

Govinda still awaits the faithful 

Where, even if the sun sets

The forgiving moon is always full

The intoxicating flute still gifts insanity

To the ears that hear,

But to embrace that endlessness

Who is there? Who is near?

We, the travellers pure, look ahead

The past, is but a bunch of lies.

Govinda smiles, it’s a circle after all.

Busy mortals do not realise.

Yet, the drunk and the delirious hear the flute

In an orchard of illusion, a fool sees the truth…