Deformed, bent, hunched up
Barefooted, waiting patiently,
Flower-seller Kubja counted the
Number of garlands readied for him.
The needle's eye twinkled and
The silken thread smelled fragrant
One hundred and seventeen
Said she with bated breath.
He that wears the blueness of the sky
And a crown of peacock feather
Will soon appear in these avenues
The sky explodes in a heady mixture
Of blinding light and deafening sound
With the first arrival of the monsoon
The air is rife with floral anticipation
The jasmines are wet with the rains
The streets filled with the excitement
Of earth-rain alchemy waiting for him.
Kubja passed the slender thread through the
One hundred and eighteenth garland for him
There he is making his swift and sure way
Through the milling crowds as his laughing eyes
Have met her eager gaze, mystical and quizzing
Her crooked body quivered at his touch
'Pretty dear' he whispered into her eager ears,
'You are the most beautiful woman in the world.'
(In some versions of the Bhagavatam Kubja is an ointment-seller working in Kamsa's court.Hunchbacked Kubja gets straightened on Krishna's touch.I have taken some liberties with her character in order to make her more interesting. Consequently Kubja here is a flower-seller waiting for Krishna's arrival with her pretty garlands.)
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem