| LIFE
Life, like a camel,
Rubs its face everyday
Against the thorny bushes
And makes it smeared with blood
O
Life !
What pleasure it is
What pain it is in shedding
I know ! I know !
| THE
POET AND THE FUEL-GIRL
Alone in the avenue of sals
Whistling goes the poet, raising the rustling-
O£ the dry leaves at every step. There's a
Wild aroma in the air. The sky is tipsy
With the sunset-glow. As he goes,
As he goes onward in that jungle walk
Suddenly he espies a hill-girl,
Shapely and beautiful.
Surprised, the poet halts abruptly.
Profound sylvan calm, solitude solemn.
Fascinated, the poet accosts the woman who seems
To be in a hurry—Hello girl I
Don't you see how lovely is the cock's
Red crest, blazing in the flame-coloured sky !
The woman lifts her eyes instantly :
Her face turns pale as if put out.
On her head a big bundle of faggots
Craning her neck, she heaves a sigh :
If you just relieve me for a while of my burden
I can mark the sky for once. |
