No woman tells you
that she loves you
though true it might be.
No woman will show
that she loves you
even though she feels so
Lest others look askance
at her outlook
and spoil her repute.
Opaque may be her clues.
It is up to you
to cleverly decode.
What betokens her love
is subtle and tacit.
You have to elicit it.
More is she reserved
if she happens to be
the one forbidden.
To requite love for love
she is not fear-free.
She cannot be so.
The love you made of her
is as hard as making
thread out of a stone.
You want to preserve
your love as believable.
You seek from her proof.
The proof must not weaken
her pride and stride.
It’s her fear-born concern.
What is the consolation
if no one knows it?
It’s your anguish well born.
Neither blossomed
nor withered either,
stayed the stunted bud.
02.05.2001, Pmdi
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem