I
was walking by the road, I
do not know why, when the noonday was past and bamboo branches rustled
in the wind.
The
prone shadows with their outstretched arms clung to the feet of the
hurrying light.
The
koels were weary of their songs.
I
was walking by the road, I do not know why.
The
hut by the side of the water is shaded by an overhanging tree.
Some
one was busy with her work, and her bangles made music in the corner.
I
stood before this hut, I know not why.
The
narrow winding road crosses many a mustard field, and many a mango
forest.
It
passes by the temple of the village and the market at the river landing
place.
I
stopped by this but, I do not know why.
Years
age it was a day of breezy March when the murmur if the spring was
languorous, and mango blossoms were dropping on the dust.
The
rippling water leapt and licked the brass vessel that stood on the
landing step.
I
think of that day of breezy March, I do not know why.
Shadows
are deepening and cattle returning to their folds.
The
light is grey upon the lonely meadows, and the village are waiting for
the ferry at the bank.
I
slowly return upon my
steps, I do not know why.