Crushed are the grains from the bobbled kernels grazing the wind. Ground to powder, so soft, blending into skin. With a drop of water, turned into paste, add the flame, and it will rise into baked bread.
White gold too, from wetlands pasture, baptize thee, from two to one. In union they lead, as discord is destroyed, common love beads the tusks tied tight.
Sindor, saffron, turmeric break with ashes and clay, crossed and dotted, with Sandalwood walking in faith. Light bewitched by tilaka's eye, plains, the wholly cross, and the waters rolling good-bye.
Seared in soul, through loves delight, the heart burns bright, as the darkness within, turns into light.
Populism 
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