Who takes rest always at home, cannot
gain fame, bliss and satisfaction in offering to others. So I am leaving you
here and go away earning in distant place. With these words he gets my concurrence
to go away crossing many mountains. He assured that he will return back to you
to braid hair with budding flowers before raining-season. You, my friend, look
at me. My ornaments are slipping from their position. The rain with its
lightning and thunder is humiliating me with its laughter. Suffering in mind,
the lady speaks these words to her friend-maid.
Poet: Kosanar of Karuvur village
This is a poem of second century B.C.
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