The mango grove with a lass called Paro perched on a tree
among thick bush of leaves that Devdas could not see
bleeding she came down as a stone was pelted
sweat and spattering rain divulging her femininity fully wetted
sweetness exuberant youth and defiant peaks of two
about to mature fully globes, areolas and perked up nipples too
un-kempt hair and a cut on her forehead
Devdas looked at her dazed standing stone dead
silence in the woods just the chirping birds chatter
then there were shouts, curses, abuses,
apologies and laughter
starts the story of love that was yet to mature.
Holding hands giggling, dancing, laughing galore.
Honey flows of deep affection love and passion
the forest and the mango grove and the river and rain
the flowers and dancing and blossoming no strain
but the stars and the zodiac the enemies of the pair
the lass was married off and the boy would not dare
they were not to be each other’s fair or unfair
the dream crashed so did he, lifeless withered and
disoriented alcoholic deserted roaming streets and towns
seeking love that was then someone else’s
summers and winters and springs and monsoons rolled
sick haggard broke hungry beggar young tuned old,
counting his last days lands unaware in Paro’s town
the quirk of fate!
She runs to meet him after the murmur spreads
To see her ex-love Devdas calling out Paro, Paro, Paro
and dying in the street in front of her
Was this madness or passion? Who knows?
It has turned into n epic for sure
that people still savour