Lush green mowed by the cows.
Eucalyptuses lined up in rows.
Hover everywhere the coloured flies.
Busy bee many a varied nectar tries.
Poppies, pansies and peaches potted,
Reds and magentas in the sea of emerald spotted.
Round it goes, round it goes, round the spirit, round it goes...
It will move as would move the wheel.
It will retreat as would the souls recede.
Sun climbing up the stairs,
Reaches the head and stares.
Stares it down with a frown,
The golden crown does make brown.
Reds sublime, greens whine.
Listlessly doze off even the cows, dogs and swine.
Stretched beneath the peepal a charpoyee.
And talk the men, of the sarkar, yawning there, coy.
Round it goes, round it goes, round the spirit, round it goes...
It will move as would move the wheel.
It will retreat as would the souls recede.
The peepal loses a sheen.
And betrayed by many a man umpteen.
Rustle n crustle the brown;
Griming now every nook and corner down.
It rains leaves n buds.
Lo! The figs display their skulls n heads.
Round it goes, round it goes, round the spirit, round it goes...
It will move as would move the wheel.
It will retreat as would the souls recede.
Rains culminate, precipitate now a smoke
The kitchen n granaries are nothing but broke.
It’s the decline of the golden regime.
With lesser in hues take up the task for a hundred dime.
Charpoyees are now in the company of the demy-suns;
Lest the chill swallows up their sons.
Round it goes, round it goes, round the spirit, round it goes...
It will move as would move the wheel.
It will retreat as would the souls recede.
Round it goes, round it goes, round the spirit, round it goes...
