Subtle Love

From you I wanted nothing, and I did not tell my name

to you when you left me and I stood alone silently beside
the well where the shadow of the tree fell aslant and the women
had gone home with brown earthen pitchers full to the brim.

They called me to go with them

for it was past noon but I lazily lingered
lost in the midst of vague musings
for I heard not your steps as you came.

Your eyes looked sad when you looked at me
and your voice was tired as you spoke softly

to say you were thirsty and you were a traveller
and I, into your cupped palms, poured water.

The leaves overhead rustled and the cuckoo sang
from the unseen dark as the perfume of babla flowers
came from the corner of the road while I shyly stood
speechless when you asked me for my name.

I have done nothing for you to keep me in your memory
but I will remember, sweetly forever, that I gave you water

to quench your thirst in that late morning as the birds sang
weary notes and neem leaves rustled overhead.

Adopted from Tagore’s Gitanjali, poem 54

Henry Victor          12.12.2012