13

I ASKED nothing, only stood at the edge of the wood behind the tree.

Languor was still upon the eyes of the dawn, and the dew in the air.

The lazy smell of the damp grass hung in the thin mist above the earth.

Under the banyan tree you were milking the cow with your hands, tender and fresh as butter.

And I was standing still.

I did not say a word. It was the bird that sang unseen from the thicket.

The mango tree was shedding its flowers upon the village road, and the bees came humming one by one.

On the side of the pond the gate of Shiva's temple was opened and the worshipper had begun his chants.

With the vessel on your lap you were milking the cow.

I stood with my empty can.

I did not come near you.

The sky woke with the sound of the gong at the temple.

The dust was raised in the road from the hoofs of the driven cattle.

With the gurgling pitchers at their hips, women came from the river.

Your bracelets were jingling, and foam brimming over the jar.

The morning wore on and I did not come near you.

13

我一无所求，只站在林边树后。

倦意还逗留在黎明的眼上，露润在空气里。

湿草的懒味悬垂在地面的薄雾中。

在榕树下你用乳油般柔嫩的手挤着牛奶。

我沉静地站立着。

我没有说出一个字。

那是藏起的鸟儿在密叶中歌唱。

芒果树在村径上撒着繁花，

蜜蜂一只一只地嗡嗡飞来。

池塘边湿婆天的庙门开了，朝拜者开始诵经。

你把罐儿放在膝上挤着牛奶。

我提着空桶站立着。

我没有走近你。

天空和庙里的锣声一同醒起。

街尘在驱走的牛蹄下飞扬。

把汩汩发响的水瓶搂在腰上，女人们从河边走来。

你的钏镯叮当，乳沫溢出罐沿。

晨光渐逝而我没有走近你。