Hunting When In Teen. Poem by Rm. Shanmugam Chettiar

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