![]() |
Lady and her friend-maid |
The women are murmuring about my clandestine
relation with him putting their index finger on their nose. My mother is beating
with a little stick chasing me running. I feel mentally and physically pain.
You my friend, hear my words.
He will come in his horse pulling chariot
threshing the flowers on route to smell good fragrance by this night. I shall
elope with him on the chariot. Then, let the people murmur.
The lady says to her friend-maid.
Poet: Ulochanar
Poem belongs to 2nd century
B.C.
No comments:
Post a Comment