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Fetching water,
From the village mere,
Year after year,
I used to see her.

Underneath the mango tree,
A village lass born free,
Would wander boundless on the earth,
And revel in Nature’s mirth.
Her humble abode,
Now an empty void,
On the roof tattered
Appear cobwebs scattered.

Since yester year,
The mere is mere,
Mute are the nightingales,
And birds sing no madrigals.

On the mango- tree- bed,
Dew drops of night are shed,
As if she silently weeps,
And weeps in silence!    
(And weeps in loneliness!)

Copyright © | Year Posted 2005

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Date: 8/18/2015 5:36:00 PM
Your compelling story is a hit.. congrats on your winning placement, Dr. Hemant!
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Date: 8/13/2015 1:39:00 AM
Congrats on ur awesome winning write Dr Hemant!
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Date: 8/13/2015 1:37:00 AM
Dr H., Congratulations on your win. SKAT LOVE
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