For time, frozen and silence, a sad song.
The widowed wife, she keeps weeping all night long.
For summer, forgotten and when winter, is now.
The young son carries the name and is warm wearing your clothes on.
As remorse, realised and regret weighs on.
As memories, always a melancholic trip down.
Hey Ram! Hey Ram! Tell me where have you gone?
I’ve been searching soundly yet you are nowhere to be found.
unsathishfactory. 