Maya

Dappled in purple shade of her gown

She walks down the little town

Gracefully yet with admiration;

Flowers in the garden and

Blades of grass in the field dance to her steps,

Waving in the zephyr that blows

The locks of her hair;

Juvenile blood rushes in veins

Stares at her arched waist going deep down

Hiding all its treasures,

Promises a man all its pleasures in proximity

That remains a curiosity;

For a moment she stops—

Standing there she looks at someone

Must be the blessed one

A smile flashes with no reason

Greets life in all its seasons

Flames of passion bubbling in the hearts

Interrupts time to pass

A smile that she flaunts

Makes the barbet in the branch to taunt

She looks above the tree

Sees the bird to flee

And walks down slowly.