Visalakshi

Her husband is dead. Tragic or pleasing news! That too in a car accident. She was my love five decades back. Our sojourn was a month In her village where I chanced to stay. Loveliness and gracefulness Combined, she was a lotus. No wonder, I loved her. It is wonder, she loved me. She loved me more Than I loved her, the poor. Her love was pure and genuine. My love was daring and fast. Our eyes crossed and then talked. Our lips talked and then touched. It is the virgin love for the both. She sanctioned my visit once To her house and to the room Where we were closeted. She believed me to such extent That she conceded to be undraped And surrendered to my trust. Too tender in age, I deserted her. It took three decade for me To trace her and meet her. Then she was not a lotus But reminded me of a cactus, Aging being prominent. Now she is a widow. I am not a widower. Otherwise, I would have wiped The sin I committed to her. 31.12.2007