A. V. Koshy writes

An Epic on Childhood - 15 - The Brook

hid in the thick greens of leafy foliage
deep in the ancient, rubber estate
a little brown path did wind, lined by sage
where rocks and a brook did mate
there one could hear the splash of a lad
leaping in alone, to frolic
further downstream, a shy brown maid
submerged and arose, tantric
a kingfisher watched the beautiful scene
then, in a swift flash of blue, gold and green
swooped in a single, curving dive; deep
a silver guppy to catch, from the brook's muddy bed
as if in alarm, the maid's towel slipped
birdsong and breeze seemed suddenly stilled
the boy's eyes widened and narrowed in fright
then something came alive in them, as if willed
the rocks were slippery, wet and hard
the brook flowed on, in the monsoon, huge
soap bubbles floated on the water, at large
the rocks had an overhang, for a quick deluge
there, it is rumoured, he gave her country apples
for the first time, and then tried to kiss her sweet lips
there she withdrew her mouth in protest
not from the fruit's stain, but his mayhap tainted love
did they ever see each other, again, by that water?
nothing is known, the world is still unsure!
the kingfisher awaits, the brook is now empty
the rubber trees, bird song and breeze? still pure.
a year went by, time seemed unkind
everything faded like lost childhood
innocence fables it never existed or happened
imagination alone, solitary, keeps those memories intact
hallowed.
 
 A Girl Bathing in the Stream -- Jodesa