I know of a place,
basking in the morning sunshine, by the edge of a river, flowing, silent still, caressing through tiny pebbles, white, gray, blue, green,
not too far away, on the other side behind the forest greens, mighty mountains stand tall, holding the river by it's side, like a father to a child.
Amidst, sweet fragrance of flowers, gentle sounds of water stream, distant temple bells are ringing, are these ragas played on a flute ? Is this where Krishna is ?
Not years, not decades, not a lifetime, to merge with the one it may take many lives, but Keshava is kind,
maybe flower to a butterfly, or sunshine to the trees, rainbow in clear blue skies and sometimes dew drops to the leaves,
in your eyes I see, my little Kanha smiling back at me,
vyartha khojte ho mujhe parth, uske hriday main hain mera vaas, morri preeti tumhre saath.
