The Milky Way is white and frigid with the fever of oblivion;
A billion suns will be battered by the cleaver of oblivion.
Remember not the love songs lost nor the updraughts of passion;
Drowned in a moat of disdain, I am a believer of oblivion.
Let her steal a million breaths from the lusty throats of opponents,
The seamstress of her nightdress is a weaver of oblivion.
Tapestries of crimson stoke the blushing flames of carousal,
Bleeding among the brambles, I am a retriever of oblivion.
En route to tryst with elements, a black rose shed its petals.
The afternoon in the dust stood as the griever of oblivion.
In the end, no wind will shake the mellowing sheaves of barley,
No god, no man or a woman will be the deceiver of oblivion.
Uma, let me sing to the full the swan song of my essence,
I am toppling down the hillock into the river of oblivion.