by Reena Prasad
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.