Flowering nights

An earthen lamp sits in smoky vigil

Dusk spreads beyond the courtyard tree

Burning incense sticks smolder

till they crumble into grey dust

Come home, the roses are sparkling wet

The dew-drenched lady

is quietly walking by.

Night glances in

through the creeper-draped glass

only to look away and ponder at large.

The Nishagandhi has bent

under the will of the rain

drizzling sweetness even in defeat

Warm breaths hush the talkative bangles

but naughty anklets continue to smile and peep

Drops of water dot  the cool, mud pitcher

Drops of water break into sweaty beads

Reality whispers but sleep cajoles.

Waiting for a bee to return back to me

Spring of my soul, I bloom no more

When darkness embraces my curled-up toes

a gentle need seeps through my inner whorls.

A bud in precocious bloom, a butterfly sensing doom

a moth settling for a vagrant hue

or am I the colour of a summer night

fading too soon?

Crushed jasmine buds dot a bridal bed

as a tender night falls into a scented dream.

©Reena Prasad
6th August 2012


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