Hunting When In Teen.

That was the age of nineteen, The age for searching for the queen. Many were spotted on line, None of whom was to my design. I sighted her on the bank Of a tank on a dusky night, With her two sisters to flank. It was a temple festive feat. She was fatter than the sisters. She was darker than the sisters. She only pulled me to her side By her freshness and youngness. Can I pull her? – A challenge, Her formidability threw to me To test how best I can stand To win over a woman’s hand. If beaten and beaten, even A rock can be well shaken. By repeatedly seen, the rock Was moved. I was in peak. I found her home and family, Which was on my way luckily. Her clan was just one step away. That was the block in my way. I won her vision every morning And evening, from her balcony. I won her consent in picking My letters, thrown from bicycle. I won her presence in a tryst That she planned in a lone house. With her maid, she gave audience And urged me for an alliance. She was there so near me as fire. I stood there bare as tinder. No touch, no kiss, I was perfect. I wanted to earn her respect. Badly I buried my lust To stand high in her estimate. Sadly I hurried to exit As a noble, missing a feast. Her stepbrother was my teacher, A smooth friendly character. He took my proposal as dry And sent me out high and dry. I can have her by inter caste; Her child will then suffer great To choose her a suitable mate. Therefore, he was against my act. She gave pose from balcony. I got it from down below, cycling. Twice a day, there were many. To our love there was no blow. Later her brother came down From his stand and made it known That I could get her hand If my parents gave their hand. That stand he should have taken By the pressure she had given. A clear indication of her, That she was keen for our tie. I averred to my revered mother In alluded way. No use. With no job, no money, to muster Strength is in vain. I stood aloof. Days rolled. There was no courage. Study was over. Time parted us. I cursed my cowardliness. All ended in tragic senses. I lost my love without guts. I lost a bird without a hunt. A tragic note then I wrote- All are well that began well. No more love had blossomed. By now, forty years rolled. Where is she? Whether she lives? . To see her once is my bliss. 29.05.2001, dBerh