Kanya Kumari.

Strips of pale silken scarf On the soft crimson light Spreading from land to sea After the blackness of night Amid sighing moonstone of seeded saturn A crow is crowing to break up the pattern. Kanya Kumari high monarch’s maid High colour in her cheeks of sunset And a foamed white set in her face; Her father departed for the Kailash parbat To find the fair maiden a suitable match And found Shiva there meditating Which the heavens chose as her consort. The gods became nervously worried That in case the pretty maiden married Who will kill Raku the demon? With his jostling gestures at large Sowing the dreaded terrors in all Because the maiden full of beechen blooms Could cast a spell of beauty over demon alone And kill him without any weapons thrown. The marriage was then fixed For some hour of the midnight And Shiva waited in his dark cavern For the auspicious time to arrive. But gods took shape of a cockerel Which darted and crowed at midnight With calls awash Shiva became agitated And cursed himself for being overslept, vegetated As the morning has come, he has betrayed the maiden Sorrowful he left forever, under the clouds gloom laden. Kanya Kumari waited for her consort But alas the hour of midnight gone In her despair she plucked some flowers And threw it into the sea over the bowers. Though the horizons are red After the bloods of the midnight The maiden still waits there, forever Keeping vigils over every path in sight. Kanya Kumari is the goddess of hope Of drenched patterns, of agitated lore In elevated hope that ever suspires She waits forever amid despairs and mires But glooms are hindered by her bright desires.