At the wayside and near to the road
I was waiting for your steps, soft like a song,
Straining my eyes towards the unending route
I frowned like a clown with eyebrows raised.
As the bus brushes the dust beneath,
Whistling its way towards a time bound place
I wonder about the images you see,
Taking you here, whilst on its way.
I see a house near the wayside tree,
Not far, not near, from the place I wait.
Blowing the air with an echoing sound,
I listened to the maid, wash, the clothes.
It belonged not, to her, nor to her kin,
But she surely had seen, the rug before.
Singing a tune, which I in-between hear,
She was sweet, and beautiful to every ear.
She came to my mind, fair and sweet,
Dressed in a saree, clinging to her waist,
As she bowed and back again,
It swayed on her body, in and out.
Her feet was numb and pale, in white,
Rigged in with fissures, cold and dark.
Her legs, wheatish and breasts, half-full,
She sang for her child, a slow moving song.
Her hair was dark, touching her waists,
A cascade of black,tied up in a tail.
Wet with the water, dripping the rugs,
She went on uncared, with the child in mind.
The breeze blew in, and I hear the pause,
Her saree swayed more, baring her breasts
Quick with reflex she held onto her fall,
Tying it with skill onto her innocuous waist.
Again I hear the same mixing tune,
The music of her, of rugs, and of breeze.
Caught in a spell of her enchanting face,
I closed my eyes and reached for her waist.
I awoke from dreams, as the engine drew near,
With awe and guilt, I glanced at the crowd,
Did someone notice?, and caught me staring ?
No, I am Ok. and was alone till now.
She came to my arms, after the weeks trail,
Relaxed and cheerful, as she fell into me
I held my Maid in trembling arms,
And spoke to her with respect and love.
Where you the one who washed their clothes?
Singing to the tune of an old unknown rhyme.
Where you the one with bosoms full?
Awaiting her child, from his grandmother’s lap?
Kavitha by : Mahesh
Email : firstname.lastname@example.org