At the  threshold ---of love
 I leave the  stains of  swat
my ritual  design .
 Eager  to listen to the conch- shell
within you
time without number  I came
and  went back  deprived !

Greatly moved  by this  futile  pilgrimage
 of mine
the distal Sun on high, --
 climbs the  pyre
while  another  fire  is burning me
 from within !
 shall  i  go back this time too
or ---stand and wait
without a  hint by cosmic gesture
I can neither  come in -- nor
 retrace my steps , --my dear !