To the fragrant smell of blowing hum
I am the motherland.
When we dig on the forest of flowers
I am a well of fragrance.
Wherever you watch the thick forest
I am the basket of flowers
I am a heap of flowers.
With only four sprouts on a branch
And only four flowers for a sprig
But still, suffocate all the sides with the perfume
I am a heap of scents – white-flowered plant
The raw smells of the cut grass
And the greenish sap stink of uncut pasture
Half dried odour of reeds
The green bamboo raw stench
I am a delicate pleasant aroma of
Tender leaves of peas
Graceful coloured carpet.
The root, the trunk
Branches and leaves
Buds and flowers raw tender fruits
And ripened ones everything had their own
Spreading the smells around
My industry of scents
Without melting the blood of any workers.
Adding within me
The Criss-cross lanes appearing on their own
As walking paths,
I am a sorcerer
Vanishing the ways.
Smearing sandalwood paste
To the cheeks of breeze
Sending wind as my representative
To distribute the offerings to people
At all corners
Jack fruit and lotus related
Cultured flower family, I belong to.
In golden yellowish moonlight milk
The moon mixing turmeric and sandalwood
Under the shade of night
That sprinkle intoxicating
Water as spray
At the time of relaxing in deep sleep
Sending a palanquin of fragrances
When my seven leaves tree invited you
You are perplexed
Whether to accept it and go
Or to deny and stay back.