When the breeze approaches
Blowing is the hot wind

When the rose bud flowers
Black is its color

When lotus flowers
No odor is there

When the winter moon shines
I could feel the scorching sun

When I go to bed
I feel a tomb

When a cuckoo sings
It’s a melancholy cry

When it rains
No spirit is in it

When the rainbow bows
No fancy is in it

LOVE IS NOT A “BYE” – PASS
NEVER IS IT A TIME – PASS