the village woman at mustard fields by the lake
that day took a detour with a handful of noon
spilled pot wet
...
not a flower
i gave you
what had sprung in my heart
the first kiss of mine
...
written in your eyes
the glow named hope
is the burden
you are destined to carry
...
वादियों के फूल नहीं
तुजे दिया जो
दिल में उग आया था
मेरा पहला चुंबन
...
Hailed from India and settled in Toronto, I have modeled a lifestyle centered in creativity & natural living. Please submit your work to an upcoming free literary online magazine (link in Google+ Profile))
Village Woman
the village woman at mustard fields by the lake
that day took a detour with a handful of noon
spilled pot wet
her torso shining
she was restoring her breath
under a boulder of tryst
from a trail through the field
when i neared her
she pranced at the crushing leaves
& paced away tittering
her swaying hip
lurching brass on the hip
i mumbled over her ringing anklets
she arched and smiled
waved and turned back
the woman of the village
faded in the vast of yellow bloom
back in a clutch of an unnamed demon
who saps their limbs
and drains their time