A Maiden

By Rajashree Bangthai

The first time I saw her there,
under the mango tree, stroking her hair,
I glanced at her lotus eyes and her fine, fair brow
and Cupid struck me with his arrow.

During the village fair, I saw her at the market;
in her jasmine hands was a flower-filled basket.
Surrounded by damsels, heavily decked,
she outshone them without a single trinket.

I saw her once under the gulmohar tree
the enchanting one took no notice of me.
Her face had stolen hue from a rain-laden cloud,
yet she wasn’t the slightest bit proud.

I still don’t know who she was,
but she too doesn’t know who I was.
Hopefully, her face is still the one that can spark wars
before which wanes the alluring moon among stars.