Things Unsaid. Poem by asha odathekal
Things Unsaid.
Give me nothing to expect, Krishna;
Be elusive always.
Still, your Radha shall wait here
On the banks of this Yamuna
Watching blue butterflies paint the crimson sky.
Long wait indeed, Beloved.
Strange are the ways you leave me enchanted,
Lost in the curly black of your shadowy hair.
Tuesday, June 23, 2009
Topic(s) of this poem: hair
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8/5/2026 1:20:15 PM # rel_20260803T153344Z_4267e77
