The Aghon mist teases blocking my way
No defined shapes and contours gay
May be without the mist I’d see
The beaten gold aanchal of the paddy fields
the upteen slender fingers closed round
swishing swift sickles dazzling
or the chignon on heads with no time to lookup
or, may be, in the gold fields
the jests too are yellow and greasy
and I could have, pretending not to
looked for my Seuti
among the reapers there
the Aghon mist teases blocking my way
no defined shapes or contours gay
is there no way to find out
pomegranate teeth reddened
by chewing nuts and ripe as Aghon
in all of her seventeen years
looking for mates to tie the shocks
and the greasy yellow smiles
and the playful push with a ‘go on’
the Aghon mist bothers me
the reaper is busy in the Aghon fields
tying the sheaves into shocks
in the Aghon fields there is only work
down the Aghon fields the wild geese flew
to some distant lake taking your minds with them
even in Aghon skies there is ulutation
the Aghon sky is full of intoxicants
only its paths are lost in mist
chasing the mind’s ducks the woods are covered
and the Aghon mist blocks the way
[Boudeo, you had mentioned Seuti
But did you tell her about me]
The paddy fields are lost in the Aghon mist
The Aghon mist hides the reapers
In the Aghon mists Seuti is lost
The tora strings I had gathered
Go a begging.
