Classic Poem

Purananuru 117

Even when black Saturn
smouldered in the sky,
even when comets smoked
and the silver star
ran to the south,

his crops would still come to harvest,
the bushes would flower,
large-eyed rows of wild cows
would calve in the yard
and crop the grass.

Because his scepter was just,

the green land knew
no lack of rains,
there were many noble men,
green-leaved jasmine
flowered
like the thorn teeth
of young wildcats

in the country of Pari,
father of those artfully bangled daughters.