The lovelorn koel cooed, incessantly,
Ripping her heart, through her soul, the pain did seep…
Infiltrated through her spirit, melancholy,
Stabbing her hope, verve; her agonizing wounds weep…
A tear trickled down, as recalled she,
A magnificent spring, the blossoms, the fragrance…
The look, the words, his smile, her glee,
The fond touch, the tender kiss, the warm embrace…
Still coos the koel, sun shines bright,
A miracle is what her desperate heart does crave…
Lays awake she on intoxicating nights,
Still there remain flowers, but on her man’s grave…
Pooja
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