His Act

She walked down her regular path,

Glancing hither and tither,

Slightly frightened,

Slightly anxious,

And slightly excited;

For she knew her beloved was around for sure.

Carrying a pot full of curd on her head,

She awaited his arrival in her heart,

And sure enough,

A stone flew to her pot, breaking it apart,

Bathing her in curd.

In anger, she picked a stone,

Throwing it there, from where it came with a start.

A flinching voice echoed,

Vibrating from the bushes,

Making her startle

Enough to wipe away the traces,

Of anger.

Who knew, Her beloved had long plotted this,

Spreading red fruit juice on His shoulder,

He jumped down,

Looking miserable from head to toe.

In pain, He was drowned.

Sure, it was an act,

But She was horrified, ready to do as He pleased.

Who knew?

After Their playful time together,

When She realized this was an act,

Her anger knew no bounds.

She flew with rage,

Rushing far far away.