From East to the East wind blows, the season sighs,
The cuckoo's call, a question in the skies.
What will become of this heart, so frail?
My muslin scarf, a kite in the air it streams,
My muslin scarf, where a rose softly gleams,
In the valleys, my love's vibrant age unfurls,
My muslin scarf, a kite in the air it streams.
A rose enfolded in my scarf's embrace,
In valleys, my love blooms in this sacred space.
Nature's hues adorn your garment's grace,
My muslin scarf, a kite in the air it streams.
My feet no longer touch the earth, it's true,
My home, my street, my village, all feel askew.
Since our eyes first met, no peace has ever come,
My muslin scarf, a kite in the air it streams.
This is how it is with love's first spark,
When youthful hearts ignite, dispelling dark.
Our state, like madness, a fevered, joyful art,
My muslin scarf, a kite in the air it streams.
From East to the East wind blows, the season sighs,
The cuckoo's call, a question in the skies.
What will become of this heart, so frail?
My muslin scarf, a kite in the air it streams,
My muslin scarf, my muslin scarf it seems.
From East to the East wind blows, the season sighs,
The cuckoo's call, a question in the skies.
What will become of this heart, so frail?
My muslin scarf, a kite in the air it streams.
My muslin scarf, a kite in the air it streams.
A rose enfolded in my scarf's embrace,
In valleys, my love blooms in this sacred space.
A rose enfolded in my scarf's embrace,
In valleys, my love blooms in this sacred space.
Nature's hues adorn your garment's grace,
My muslin scarf, a kite in the air it streams.
My feet no longer touch the earth, it's true,
My home, my street, my village, all feel askew.
Since our eyes first met, no peace has ever come,
My muslin scarf, a kite in the air it streams.
This is how it is with love's first spark,
When youthful hearts ignite, dispelling dark.
Our state, like madness, a fevered, joyful art,
My muslin scarf, a kite in the air it streams.
From East to the East wind blows, the season sighs,
The cuckoo's call, a question in the skies.
What will become of this heart, so frail?
My muslin scarf, a kite in the air it streams,
My muslin scarf, my muslin scarf it seems.
|
