A flower woven in wreath of beauty
is a pilgrim from wild,
serenely waiting
atop temple of her face,
resting in vines of her tresses,
for its turn to bend over
and get a glimpse of its reflection in her eyes-
to see the soul of its own beauty,
and, then wither away fulfilled.
is a pilgrim from wild,
serenely waiting
atop temple of her face,
resting in vines of her tresses,
for its turn to bend over
and get a glimpse of its reflection in her eyes-
to see the soul of its own beauty,
and, then wither away fulfilled.
-Pulastya
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