A storm was coming, but the winds were still,
And in the cool moon light at LOC,
Before an peepal, so hollow, huge and old
It looked a tower of invaded ruins, On lifeless snow, wounded soldier lay.
For he that always bare in bitter grudge
The sight of enemy and his voice,
A signal of death and storm,
Blown into shelter at Kargil, hill
That out to rattle the cool serenity.
Karwa Chauth fast married girls observe, But the great wife keeps in his name,
Swear to the safety and longevity, With all the love and praying to lord,
Not to be ceased in their love and life.
She sat beside the picture of her dear Krishna,
And is the best tradition followed,
In her husband’s household, prayed innocently,
‘Alas! No body knows -truly—love that hold
It more beseems the perfect loyal wife.
To worship man as true wife prayed,
All hopes of gaining, than as maiden girl.
She places her pride in her husband and God,
So passionate and honest f or an utter purity,
Beyond the limit of and harm for not to singleness.
Brave hearts and clean! and yet—
God blessed him—young to serve motherland.’
He rose to silent the enemy, thought of her:
Here are snakes and grass;
And your, O dear, save ye fear.
The fearless manhood, and the fire of pure
Worn by this court, can stir him till he stings.’
And he answered, smiling, why fear?
I savor of my land, fear them? No.
As Love, if Love is perfect, casts out fear.
So patriotism, if patriotism is perfect, casts out fear.
Here her slow, teary, sweet eyes
Fear-tremulous, but modestly hopeful, rose
Fix in her heart, while the married who stood
All dazzling like May sunshine on sea waves.
In sari and gold, and plumed with colors replied,
‘Peace, child! Of above blame, you choose the best.
Your noble man will hear and know the power of devotion..
Well, you shall test thee farther; but this hour;
I bide the while.’ As one that labors with an evil dream.
‘Is that the man? Goodly—or mirage:
Courteous-takes her hand-
That glance of his, but for the street, had been;
A clinging kiss-how hand lingers in hand!
Let go at last! —he drove away-to hawk.
Down upon in the lanes, while they dance- Or dream—
they dreamed not-nor of me, these-ay, but each of either:
Dance and dream, the mortal dream that never yet was mine-
Ride, ride and dream until ye wake-to me!
Then, dark lanes and tears and my queen, farewell!
Leave a Reply