O lady, the lady in white—
your youth, a doodle,
virgin,
without the painter’s sight.
O lady, the lady in white—
your youth, a doodle,
virgin,
without the painter’s sight.
It comes to every flower,
arrives with equal right—
fading,
fading with each moonrise.
It comes to every flower,
arrives with equal right—
fading,
fading with each moonrise.
Your youth would widen
with the sky—
blue,
blue over the white.
Your youth would widen
with the sky—
blue,
blue over the white.
— Amit Choudhary, 2010