He is standing on the bank of the river,
Holding a Red Umbrella and jasmine for his beloved;
Short sleeved white shirt with a blue tie,
Her favorites and he is eagerly waiting for arrival.
He glances left to right wiping his sweat on his face,
Leans on the umbrella stem, spinning it from time to time;
One hand in the pocket, with anxiety and patience on the same line
He still resolves to meet her on the same place.
He spent five years waiting, waiting on the same spot,
Same outfit, counting every second of the days and night;
Passed the monsoon, autumn, spring and winter teasing him
Even the dawn and dusk asked him to filter the wrong from right.
His pants are sacked, and the sleeves heavily wrinkled
Wrecked hope accompanied by his broken umbrella,
Five years of thin hope passed by- he still stands on the fruitless bank;
Yet his hope has not die, and he still dreams of a life
With cool breeze of impulses that would bring back the memories,
Old and wretched face to be lit by the sunshine, and the fissure to be filled.
