That was the age of nineteen,
The age for searching for the queen.
Many were spotted on line,
None of whom was to my design.
I sighted her on the bank
Of a tank on a dusky night,
With her two sisters to flank.
It was a temple festive feat.
She was fatter than the sisters.
She was darker than the sisters.
She only pulled me to her side
By her freshness and youngness.
Can I pull her? – A challenge,
Her formidability threw to me
To test how best I can stand
To win over a woman’s hand.
If beaten and beaten, even
A rock can be well shaken.
By repeatedly seen, the rock
Was moved. I was in peak.
I found her home and family,
Which was on my way luckily.
Her clan was just one step away.
That was the block in my way.
I won her vision every morning
And evening, from her balcony.
I won her consent in picking
My letters, thrown from bicycle.
I won her presence in a tryst
That she planned in a lone house.
With her maid, she gave audience
And urged me for an alliance.
She was there so near me as fire.
I stood there bare as tinder.
No touch, no kiss, I was perfect.
I wanted to earn her respect.
Badly I buried my lust
To stand high in her estimate.
Sadly I hurried to exit
As a noble, missing a feast.
Her stepbrother was my teacher,
A smooth friendly character.
He took my proposal as dry
And sent me out high and dry.
I can have her by inter caste;
Her child will then suffer great
To choose her a suitable mate.
Therefore, he was against my act.
She gave pose from balcony.
I got it from down below, cycling.
Twice a day, there were many.
To our love there was no blow.
Later her brother came down
From his stand and made it known
That I could get her hand
If my parents gave their hand.
That stand he should have taken
By the pressure she had given.
A clear indication of her,
That she was keen for our tie.
I averred to my revered mother
In alluded way. No use.
With no job, no money, to muster
Strength is in vain. I stood aloof.
Days rolled. There was no courage.
Study was over. Time parted us.
I cursed my cowardliness.
All ended in tragic senses.
I lost my love without guts.
I lost a bird without a hunt.
A tragic note then I wrote-
All are well that began well.
No more love had blossomed.
By now, forty years rolled.
Where is she? Whether she lives? .
To see her once is my bliss.
29.05.2001, dBerh