16 April 2012
A radiant ochre sundown Conjures an orange haze Over a tired shanty town, Met with a bloody mist, Sweeping the reddish ground.
A Nirvanic breeze sedately falls, Silencing the beaten byways. A ghostly whisper quietly calls, As a sacred Banyan tree sways, Standing regal, majestic and tall.
Reaching skyward and towering with pride, Head in the clouds, a heavenly most high, Remaining grounded, tangled and tied, Within the Maharajah, when darkness draws nigh, Lays a safe haven for lovers to hide.
Softly spoken verse stoops upon my ear, Forcibly a man drags me to the base, As kind balladry disperses all my fear. Futile in his passionate embrace, Into his alluring foreign eyes I peer.
“What is your name?" I virginally inquired, As we cradled under the giving tree. “I am your Satyavan” He duly transpired; Proceeding; “You are my dear Savitri!” “And we are all that we’ve both desired!”
Under The Banyan Tree • Opuss № I