She rode the dingi by the dusk,
As twilight kissed her pastel skin.
White saree with orange glaze
Stirred the fire from deep within.
Her blackish hair touched the sun,
Dangling through the silent air.
Sitting across the open ledge,
Basking alone, without a care.
Winds caressed her solemn face,
Writing a story none could trace.
Masked by fate and forgotten lore,
Pink-headed ducks drifting ashore.
A myth, a beauty so rare and true,
Destined to meet but not to pursue.
Swallowed up by the river's pride,
Vanishing under the silver tide.