She the sacred and cool evening...

The evening...
She came after a spell of rain...
Fresh...moist...
As if she had bathed
And had worn
Her saree meant for a special occasion...
As if she had prayed to her lord
For the rain
All through those six days sultry...
She chose simple things for her dressing up...apparel...so paltry...

A rounded spot on her forehead
Red...
And a creamy orangy saree
Matched
With a red border...

The evening came
Like a woman out of her prayer...
Straight from the temple...
Chaste and simple...
Washed hair...
Shine...and black-
so divine...

And she walked slow...
Vermillion flakes visibly tangible on her brow...
And coolness emanating
Against a western orange setting...

She walked by the park
Children still running...too eager to cash in
The day's last spark...
They had a match a bit delayed
By the rain...

She walked past the lake...
Love birds counting anniversaries of May...

She walked past a library lane quiet
Three old men reading newspapers under yellow spot lights...

She walked past the terminus...
Buses coming home with people tired so out of gas...

She walked past a painter's studio
A man in colored apron standing arms akimbo
Lost in his world of Vinci and Picasso...

She walked past...
The evening sacred and cool
Touching all and sundry
and a great fool...

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