You,
northern wind in chillness blowing on me, please blow on my Man in earning
wealth in a distant place leaving me alone here.
It was rained with thunder to fall the
flowers drop on ground. It is over at present. I am standing alone watching on
the direction in which he will return from. My shoulders in my arm are loose dropping.
I am longing for him. Having no mercy on me, you, northern wind are lashing me.
You are blowing as the elephant sighs with water. Even my eyes are shivering. The
lotus becomes burning. The hill is also attacked by you. Having these qualities
you, wind, is purposely attacking me without mercy. I hope, it will be better
to blow at the track where my Man is present so as to make him to think me.
 |
| Waiting face |
A
poem by: Keran Eitriyar of Kalar village
The text is belongs to second century
B.C. or earlier.
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