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Those things that I think of a hundred times Each day, The parting of your hair, The way your eyelashes reach up to your eyebrows, The curve of your cheek, Yet another one of your nose, The whorls in your ear, Your clean jaw bone, Your smile which starts inside you, Then spreads to your eyes, your lips, Your touch on my spine, My shoulder My hand as we shake hands and smile, I wish I had a more tangible, Retrievable record of all I store as treasures, my love Watch my back I hold it straight And walk gently away Like morning mist, Being tucked into distant ranges, Where elephant herds forage, On still fecund foliage, Their only presence, The scent of musth wafting down the travelling mountain breeze.
- Lakshmi Bayi was born XII Princess of the erstwhile royal state of Travancore
