The Woman

Shylaja:

The Woman

He turned to see
What he had made of her
As she awaited by the banks
Of the sacred river

Her vermilion etched forehead
Crept by the moving window sill
Of his rickety old motor boat
As she disappeared into the horizon
As a faint dot, a fading flame.

By the endless fish drenched ocean
His sweat rolled by the sun’s lust
Morbid fell the fish amassed by his net
Empty though was his heart that raged
By old rusted window sill

Dawn to dusk, week to week
He sat there in the sea
Wondered where this woman
Who’s vermilion etched forehead
Rested safely by his hearts cease
Had burst out of the little flower girl
Who sat coyly by his side as Agni
Announced the couple to be
And blessed them with prosperity.

He sighed another sigh
As his hands withdrew roughly the net
He so carefully scattered below the sea
Quivering to his sight as he closed his eyes
He saw her willful entity
As she burst open the doors
Of the flower girl who once wed he.

Her lips stained by his teeth
Her breath heaving silently
Her arms tightly around he.
She surrendered for him to see.

As the net he laid brought back bounty
The knot he tied got him she

Not the flower girl.
But the woman whose vermilion etched forehead
Told the world, that there was he.