Poet, Poem, Love

Ah! my polished, refined poet,
love comes to you easily than poetry.
I come to see you in my tattered attire.
At your threshold, your elite fragrance greets me.
I fear your disgrace due to my company,
retreat with a heavy heart, leaving some plants,
at your door, which I gathered on my way to you.
They grow abandoned in the sunlight, nourished by the wind,
and bring forth fragrant blooms, and then
you come to know of my unknown visit.
Solemnly, you sit down at your desk and,
encrypt me archaic using wild berries and roots.
I decrypt them with ease and code you more crudely,
with rivers, mountains, seas and skies.
Foreign tongues read them as mirror images,
but to us it is just a plain mirror,
you look across and see me,
and I,
you.

by Gita Janaki

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