Kalaka was being shaped beautifully by God;
Crowned with delighted sharp eyes,
perhaps with close-mouthed.
She was humble and genuine.

She knows every article of her animation,
wrapt herself with utmost knowledge
yet surrounded by unlighted sphere.
Nobody recognised her love,
Nobody recognised her saturated power,
Nobody recognised her victory.

She became an ideal unpaid labour
with no single protest.
She was a true follower of "patriarchal blessings".
She learned the joy and struggle of her city.
She learned best of the things to
impress her unilluminated star and her in-laws.

The Culture raised her to obey silently
and not to connect the maps.
The mixer of spices enabled to pretermit....
© rare_thoughts2018