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.
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…