In the murmuring evenings,
A cat eyed maid, worn the ear-rings,
Stands by the bamboo thickets,
Putting down her water pots.
The bamboos sing and sway,
And the tired path becomes gay.
The bamboo emotions always alter ;
The unnamed tunes cease never.
Her bamboo throes resound
In the gloomy wind.
The melodies of the earth shower
On her soul that does hover.
The finger tip of the wind brings
Sweet tunes from the bamboo strings.
The music enters her inner grove,
Where the forlorn dreams rove.
The cuddled bamboos swing and say
What the lovers failed to say.
The bamboos that swing
Tune her hope with a wing.
FABIYAS M V