Who is that who keeps singing along
with the evening stars,
calling me by name
with sweetness and affection?

He keeps on rushing and dancing
without being asked to,
and observes me from a distance.

He remains mingled with the rain clouds,
with the winter sky
and the gentle breeze.

He is incomparable,
lying in the intense idea of consciousness,
unable to be caught even by playing tricks on Him.

In the cold and snowy prewinter wind,
in the inertia of winter,
in the breeze of spring,
in the floral fragrance on mango tree branches
during summer storms,
in the honey in floral fragrances,
He remains.