You and I

On the eastern

Edge of western

Ghats.

Amidst the bustle

Of tall trees and

Green grass.

Beside a lake or

A small pond.

We shall build

A hut, 

You and I.

When the 

Herdsmen come 

Playing flutes 

And the hornbills 

Hoot to the 

Footsteps of the 

Sheep.

Picking them

Nuts and fruits,

We shall spend

Our days,

You and I. 

The running water

Of the river is

Sweet they say.

Tubers and roots

In the wild are 

No less than

A feast they say.

So we shall 

Befriend a beast.

Nurse something

Feeble and weak.

And confining all

Our secrets to

The whispers of

The trees.. 

We shall become, 

Those nameless 

Lovers in folklore,

You and I.