“I may not agree with a single word you say, but I will fight to the death for your right to continue speaking” Voltaire
I asked for nothing. I merely stood in the corner of the grove, behind the tree. The eyes of dawn were still sleepy, dew hung in the air, and the lazy scent of damp grass mingled with the faint mist that veiled the earth. You were milking the cow under the fig tree, and your hands were as tender and cool as butter. I remained there, behind the tree...
I didn't say a word to you. Only an invisible bird sang in the thicket. The mango tree scattered its flowers along the village path, and the bees, one after another, approached, buzzing. They opened the door of Shiva's temple on the edge of the pond, and a devotee began to sing. You were milking the cow, holding the vessel on your lap. And I stayed there, with my empty mug...
I didn't approach you. The sky awoke with the chimes of the gong in time. The hooves of the herd stirred up clouds of dust on the path, and the women returned from the river with their water jugs gurgling on their hips. Your bracelets jingled, and your vessel overflowed with foam. The morning passed, and I didn't approach you...
(Tagore)
