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You Sing Me of Your Home

You sing to me of your home by the river,
Of the high mansion where our memories dwell.
Sona, my love, I hear your heart shiver,
In every story that the winds come to tell.
You call me your "Saanwara," your dark-hued king,
While the bells of the temple for our union ring.
I am coming to the banks where the river flows,
To the village where your love like a wildflower grows.
Wait for me, my Sona, beneath the Holi moon,
Distance is a season that will end very soon.
You dream of the sandalwood to press on my brow,
Of the morning prayers and the sacred vow.
And though miles stretch between us this festive day,
In the shrine of my heart, it’s for you that I pray.
I long for the swing made of blossoms so sweet,
To rest in your shadow and end my heat
The butter and honey, the touch of your hand,
No sweetness is greater in all of this land.
This Holi, the colors may be scattered and far,
But I am following your light, like a star.
Service or silence, whatever you give,
In the warmth of your presence is the only way I live.
- Jairam Kshirasagar 

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