(The heroine speaks to her friend who promised to arrange night tryst with the hero.)
Should I think of the chest
Smeared with sandal cream
Of the chief of a high mountain
Where the torches of fire with fragrant smoke,
Held by the hillsmen, who watch their fields
From the high lofts,
Shine like the heavenly stars, here and there.
My passion of love is on the ascendant.
How is it that it dies away the moment I embrace it?
— Matalur Kilar.