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| Squirrels play | Poem points the squirrels play on bamboo tree plants |
The man
passing though the forest way to earn ponders about his lover’s abode comparing
his way of route.
She has
eyes like lily buds with petals. Her voice is as sweet as music string
instrument Yal. Where she abodes? It is the forest with legs of trees. Elephants
will be pealing the trunk of the trees for food. Bamboo plants will be growing
there. Squirrels will be playing on the bamboo plants. That is the beauty of
her abode.
Where
I am passing through? Here are stone built hiding places. Dead-bodies of men remain
here. They appear with shoot arrows. Here are some route-meeting points the
passers-by will lose their route. The dwellers of this place will kill the
strangers, even though; they have no wealth in their hand to rob. They will
give tusks and skins of elephants, killed by them, as tax to their king of
despot. This is my route.
A
poem by: KadinTodaiKavinar
The text is belongs to second century
B.C. or earlier.
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