Under the sunburned clay tiles
Her face was a pond.
Sweats’ dewdrops on her almond skin
Keenly waited for the kiss of soil
And in the tree lined coolness of the thatched hut
She paused for me from her rustic toil.
Why do the beauties we deform
Bury the raw under heaps of vain
Kill the eyes’ wild glowworms
Plant there a mascara stain!
A girl of toil a girl of soil she’s rustic bred
Never deems never dreams for beauty’s parade!
Her face was a tree lined pond
Her heart’s ocean
I never could delve.
Only know this much
Under the sunburned tiles
Her one fleeting smile
I would carry through the coming miles.
So beautiful a poem, with loads of imagery, scent, the aroma of almond oil and an excellent flow. A really evocative, simple, elegant, yet sublime write sir...........
Her beauty is never going to diminish as it is not of skin nor of curves and mounts. I am happy we have time to write and read about such damsels too here in the P.H.
I am a student of Literature, I have read, analysed and reviewed many poems, let me tell you Sir your poem 'Her Beauty' is one of the most absorbing poems I have ever read! Written with simplicity, evocative imagery and emotive language that stirs the reader. You are automatically one of my favourite poets. I have to add you as a favourite.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
A beautiful snap shot of a rustic beauty....! ! . How sweet her smile must have been, if it could take you miles without feeling the weariness of the long journey!