The sun gives a gentle warmth from the low western horizon,
O is that your palm my mother who touches my face?
To the distant sky where I eagerly look upon,
I search for you but could not even see your face.
I thought you are close by and so I look around,
but only the shadow of trees quietly lying on the ground,
The swaying leaves in the wind now flicker like the candle in the lanterns,
in preparation to lead my heart to sail through the night on the river of thoughts.