13


I asked nothing, only stood at the edge of the wood behind the
tree.
Languor was still upon the eyes of the dawn, and the dew in the
air.
The lazy smell of the damp grass hung in the thin mist above the
earth.
Under the banyan tree you were milking the cow with your hands,
tender and fresh as butter.
And I was standing still.

I did not say a word. It was the bird that sang unseen from the
thicket.
The mango tree was shedding its flowers upon the village road,
and the bees came humming one by one.
On the side of the pond the gate of _Shiva's_ temple was
opened and the worshipper had begun his chants.
With the vessel on your lap you were milking the cow.
I stood with my empty can.

I did not come near you.
The sky woke with the sound of the gong at the temple.
The dust was raised in the road from the hoofs of the driven
cattle.
With the gurgling pitchers at their hips, women came from the