Carrying in hand a garland of campa and bakula flowers,
I had stood near the path,

hoping for Your arrival.

You came when the night was dense.
Meanwhile my floral garland had become soiled.
Into the tears flowing from my eyes,
the dark decorative mark had dissolved.

I shall no longer weave thick wrath garlands.
I shall no longer decorate trays of colours.
I shall merge external welcome decorations
into my internal imagination.