The Love From The Bud.

That day this year I had halt for a night In this tiny village Rangiyam Maet. It evoked my memory of this place That I visited as an adolescent With two adults to attend a wedding. On the eve, in the limited gathering I spotted a striking girl of my age With her little sister moving about. In no time could I get her attention. I ogled and she ogled. I leered and she leered. Eyes and eyes of us talked and interlocked. Boys and girls getting near was a taboo. She was solid in skirt and half sari, And I in half pant and tricolin shirt. Visual contacts were enough to tie us. It was my maiden love and hers too must be. It helped us move close in love, unobserved. It didn't embolden me to speak to her More from shyness than from fear or guilty. I wrote a love letter and put it there For her to pick that she did to my thrill. That day afternoon she put a letter For me to pick that I did fervently. I felt that I had won an epic war. The letter was longer than mine and nice. It was my maiden love born out of sex. I carried away her image and letter Till it was deducted by my parents And reprimanded in such a way That my love of her with that treasure Got buried for good in my timid heart. Her name and image I don't remember now. By now she must be over eighty years, Having married and spread descendants. Which was the house where we ventured to love Is not known to trace and get some solace. Lack of proximity, lack of confidence, Want of age, dare and maturity Will always burn to death the teenage love. Thanks God, I live for these sixty-six years. 09.02.2023