The first rays of early dawn
Glittered from dew-laden leaves of the forest.
Wonted to augur the signals from the constellations,
the astrologer declared : "Friends, here we are."
On both sides of the way up to the horizon
Ripe ears of cereals swayed in the serene breeze :
Message of joy from the earth
in response of the golden scroll from the sky.
From the foothill villages up to the villages on the river banks
The daily routine of the people peacefully :
The potter's wheel turned and hummed,
The lumberjack brought to the market his stere,
The cowherd led his cattle to the field,
Housewives carried their pitchers from the river
along the shadowy alleys.
But no sign of a royal fortress, nor a gold mine,
nor even a palm-leaf manuscript on occult rites ?
The astrologer confirmed : "Intimation from the planets is infallible : They indicate that the journey ends here."
Then on bending the head in devotion
he went and stood near a wayside source.
Out of that source gushed water as though liquefied light,
As though the morning overflowed
with currents of songs mingling laughter and tear.
Nearby, a hut stood beneath a palm bower
Immersed in an ineffable quiet.
Before the door sang a poet from an unknown shore :
"Mother, open the door."