Beggar Maid’s Waiting

Love you stand behind, hiding in shadows

of others pushing, and passing you on the dusty road
taking you for nothing as I wait, my offerings spread
for you, but the passers-by pick my flowers
one by one and my basket is nearly empty.

The morning and the noon is past, and in the evening
shade my eyes are sleepy, and men going home
glance at me and smile, filling me with shame
and I sit like a beggar, drawing my skirt over my face
and when they ask what it is I want my eyes drop with no answer.

I do not know how to tell them
that it is for you I wait, and you love
have promised to come, and I cannot
due to shame, reveal my dowry, this poverty
and I hide this pride in the secret of my heart.

I sit on the grass gazing upon the sky and dream
the sudden splendour of your coming with all lights ablaze,
golden flags flying and crowds at the roadside
see you come down from your seat to raise me, a beggar
from the dust and set beside you like a creeper in summer breeze.

But many processions pass by with noise and shouts
and glamour of glory as time slides, and still the sound
of the wheels of your vehicle is not heard as you stand
behind others, silently in the shadow while I wait and weep
and wear out my heart, wasting my soul in vain longing.

Adopted from Tagore’s Gitanjali, poem 41

Henry Victor          01.01.2013