I have looked at the waves with envy when they came, touched your feet and receded receiving eternal bliss. Your footprints on sand were the most beautiful artwork ever done. The ripples in the pool as your toe gently touched the water was the pool laughing and proclaiming that she had you but not me. The tiny fishes fought to get a nibble at your toes and heels while I watched longingly.
Your feet, purer, gentler and more purifying than the water of the seven seas, was never mine. But in my dreams, I did hold your feet, brushed away those grains of sand so adamantly sticking to the fair skin, and looked at them in overwhelming devotion before you walked away.
It is that moment I cherish, I wish to relive, to be my last thought before I die. And every time I touch the rosy lotus, I laugh at the silly poet who compared your feet to the petals of the lotus. What chance did it have against the gem that you are?