One early morning.

Lifting the dark

misty veil of the night.

From the pillow of its mountain

peak, the sun rose and saw..

The valley is filled

with the season of love.

And the branches of

memories have sprouted..

..innumerable

blossoms of past moments.

Unspoken, unheard yearnings.

Half asleep, half awake.

Rubbing its eyes, it watChes.

As it flows in wave after wave..

At once new, also the same.

Yes, the very same life which

encompasses love and desire.

Meeting and also parting.

And a sense..

..that time is flowing like a river,

whispering as it flows..

..that the valley is

filled with the season of love.

And the branches of

memories have sprouted..

..innumerable blossoms

of the past moments.