These marks of black musk
on her lips, red as buds,
what are they but letters of love
sent by our friend to her lover?
Her eyes the eyes of a cakora bird,
why are they red in the corners?
Th ink it over, my friends:
what is it but the blood
still staining the long glances
that pierced her beloved
after she drew them from his body
back to her eyes?
What are they but letters of love?
How is it that this woman’s breasts
show so bright through her sari?
Can’t you guess, my friends?
It’s the rays from the crescents
left by the nails of her lover,
rays luminous as moonlight on a summer night?
What are they but letters of love?
What are these graces,
these pearls,
raining down her cheeks?
Can’t you imagine, friends?
What could they be but beads of sweat
left on her gentle face
by the god on the hill
when he pressed hard,
frantic in love?
What are they but letters of love?
emoko cigurutadharamuna
- Annamayya
God on the Hill: Temple Poems from Tirupati
