Loving With Wisterias…

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fragrant wisterias
blossoming in chortling sunshine
of an exuberant summer,
are like lingering sighs
of spring twilights tapestried
in lavender whorls on clouds afloat
over cerulean heights.

they crept over ancient walls
on shadowy feet of redolence, to concoct
a verse of perfumed flowers
that reverberated with dreams of
a love which blossomed underneath
these mauve blooms of softness,
nurtured by their scented verses.

they grew up together
in that antiquated homestead,
love flowering in the realms of naiveté
as a nascent rainbow streaked
on blue-grey cheeks of
a tempestuous yet boisterous childhood,
or as a butterfly slowly evolving
within unseen chrysalis depths.

friendship metamorphosed
into love in soporific meads of adolescence,
like thunder storms changing into
honeyed symphonies of falling raindrops,
a blazing noon sky being
replaced by versatile hues of dusk
and the pink-lime foliage of mesua being
speckled in sublime flowers.

the silence of snowflakes
powdered over chiseled mountain backs,
is replaced gradually by
a rippling cascade of argent delights,
mischief of innocence now
becoming the sly innuendos of youth.

reading linguistics of gazes
enamored by a relation forged down years,
they together blended into
a confluence of entranced heartbeats
forming a novel yet exquisite melody,
while their togetherness
is scribed on papyrus of the fates,
with the silent wisterias
a witness of love’s juvenile dream.

he expressed his love
when at crepuscule not only the threshold
but also azure heavens were brocaded in
the beauty of wisterias,
her smile had the sheen of morning dew
her gaze reflecting
the fragrant song of a field
abounding in blooming lavenders.

she wore wisterias in her mane
on the day of their nuptials as an expression
of their surreal love story,
even he had a discreet wisteria
tucked inside the button hole of his suit,
their love voiced in sweet scent
of the whimsical wisterias of summer.

everyday she filled her vases
in the purple laughter of scented wisterias
and her rooms in their eloquent poetry,
their children played with these flowers
stringing them into garlands
and wearing them on their heads
their branches wreathed into crooked coronets,
concocting their memories
in the perfumed sighs of wisterias.

now years later when he searches
for her lost smile in forget-me-not blooms,
the lone wisteria blossom is
always perched inside his buttonhole
like a whispered kiss emblazoned
on her life’s moments from her in adieu…

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Shared Silences…

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meeting you on
the abstract edge of horizons,
that dappled in graffiti
by lilac-tinted quill of eventide,
as an evensong of
muted syllables of color,
I found nothing to say to you
all those carefully rehearsed lines
before my patient mirror
were all suddenly forgotten.

you wore a simple red skirt,
but to me you were prettier than
the soporific poppy in
her scarlet pinafores of fragrance,
together we shared a silence
pregnant and strumming
with ambiguous notes of
bittersweet desire,
and versicolor innuendos.

seemingly we were alone
secluded in time and place from
the rancor of worldly bustle,
as the lethargic moments crept by
too mesmerized to race past
with inherent swiftness,
and as gazes conversed eloquently
in the taut tongue-tied quiet
we walked amid the wildflowers,
reveling in our togetherness.

we were content to just
walk together without talking,
apparently aware that
despite no promises shared,
and love confessed
there was a lifetime of conversation
left to be voiced in future
and now was the moment to
savor the quietude away from
the prying eyes listening to
butterfly wings of anticipation
flutter within a lovelorn soul…

A Fragrant Memory of Love

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memory of love

she lingers in
my mind as
a nascent memory,
a gossamer dream spun
of redolent sighs,
a faint reminiscence
which lurks in
memory’s catacombs,
draped in opaque mist
of confounding amnesia.

memory of scents

I remember not
her features, her face,
nor her silken mane
or her alabaster contours,
but just some scents
which whisper in
surreal syllables tales of
a romance long lost,
a romance we shared.

faded face

scent reminiscent of
breath of lemon blossoms,
peppered over
dewy face of spring morn,
or redolent chants
of hursinghars like
wedding vows of night
and dawn blooming
in resplendent delight.

lemon blossoms

in my mind she is
a cocktail of aromas,
a bittersweet concoction
which tingles and
tantalizes the senses,
faint whiff of coffee’s smell
mingled with snow’s freshness,
which was braided
perhaps in her breath,
and luscious scent of
molten dark chocolate,
which lingered as a nuance
on her sensuous lips.

kiss of chocolate1

and every time I try to
remember her visage,
all that is revived is aromas,
citrus fragrance of
juicy slices of mandarin,
~ sweet-sour as her mischief.
and scent of drenched earth
after monsoon’s virgin shower,
reminds me of her,
and her rippling laughter…

peeled mandarin

Love Story of Butterfly and Rose

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the butterfly

of diaphanous wings,
her taffeta splashed in
variegated graffiti,
is queen of spring’s meads
as she fluttered 
on whimsical wings to
sojourn blooming bowers,
basking in honeyed sunshine
and flirting with moths
vagrantly singing eulogies
to the lilies and orchids.

for its brocaded wings
it paid the price of its chrysalis
its much cherished alcove,
and now on the petals
of myriad fragrant flowers
it is transiently cradled before
lured away by redolence
of some other bloom,
attracted by another color
and then one day it saw the rose
a crimson dream of fragrance
peppered in ruby dewdrops,
smiling shyly in sun’s tequila gaze,
and it fell in love with it.

together they shared 
whispered sweet nothings,
as butterfly sipped nectar of rose
and rose basked in dew
carried on tiny feet from elsewhere,
they romanced even
in the transient versicolor sighs
of ephemeral twilight,
and in the moonlight chianti
befriended by glowworms
while voyeur stars watched
the lovers made sweet love.

when a fair maiden plucked
the rose from its bough,
butterfly was forlorn and aghast,
it followed its beloved
wherever the lass went with
rose adorned in her braid,
just to be with its beloved
to breathe in its sweet perfume,
and till the day it withered away
dead before its time 
killed by whim of a woman
and thus ended brief love story 
of butterfly and crimson rose…