An Ode To Amrapali...

Her form wasn't wholly unknown,
Her beauty and charm beyond debate,
Yet, she seemed not a mere clone,
But the very figure of a flicker of fate.

I drew near, or maybe I was drawn,
Her poise delicate in a garb so ornate,
A bloom cast by the rays of dawn -
An intimate iconography of the innate.

If only we'd a few moments alone,
She'd have certainly told me her tale;
Not for the wind, woods, and stone,
A river's whispered aside for the vale.

Not in the lines of her arm or frame,
Or in the palm one readily held and felt,
Yet, she was conveying, all the same,
Something I grasped not, dejected knelt.

Lo! the hints firmed up, tint by tint,
None wiser to our commune, our tryst;
Thought, emotion, rapture – a glint,
A masterpiece by the artist? No, she did exist.