The gardener gifted me a rose,
when I was gently passing his way
a bright smile lighted his face
"The best that bloomed
in this garden to day, is yours" were his words.

His sweet manner is a ploy, I presumed,
I plucked one I liked, on the sly,
once I was away from his eyes,
"The best is this, now in my hands,
No way you can deceive me, I've craft"

My love chose the first among the two,
no doubt, that's the best, in her heart she knew,
why did I doubt the gardener in the first place?
not just his eyes, his heart too was perfect.

The haunted place was a taunt to mind,
was wrapped in a different kind of silence
that felt more like an accumulated absence.

Absence spoke in the words
of disturbing silence
or punctuating meaningless sounds,
all of it choked and evoked a
formless presence bound in itself,
without any point of reference
name or connections,
all erased by some quirk
time played on the turn of events.

What remains is an eerie
absence pointing to aggregated loss
which binds the collective will to express
The ghost's relevance diminished
to mere nuisance, nothing more.
This ghost has no clue where
it belongs or where to attach
still it's a faint movement  between
the shadow of absence and a vague desire
to appear as  an apparition.

Past,
i saw you crossing  roaring rivers and
climbing snow clad mountains,
taking long walks through prestine landscapes,
or loosing completely in  ecstatic rain dances,

But,
when i sought you,
and after long last,
found you there,
where you were hiding in disguise,
like a refugee, whose passport was lost--

you were,
mostly eliminated,
like a map, eaten by hungry moths ,
vastly altered
by time, the great forger
hiding in my own attic,

drastically cut,
particularly at corners,
like a cake eaten by greedy cats,
totally sanitised,
clumsily cleaned,
shades of dark completely erased,
unknowing it's value, to create contrast
foolishly whitened,
throwing  sense of aesthetics,
on the way side.

I can see frills attached without any rhyme or reason,
specifics, misinerpreted in many unwanted places,
dark lines of interference, criss crossed,
killing the  pleasure of recollection.

And,  what is  the precious left over?
do i see anything significant at all?
your this avatar, i would have gladly
submitted to  Herr Alzeimer's

what i see before mind's eye is delicately positioned,
ambiguity has taken active control, effectively of  all details,
i stand aghast,
close my eyes
and try to answer
the question that arises:
"who exactly is this?
the memories reappearing as a ghost
to bring me  back to senses,
and make me come in  terms,
with what has passed for ever?"
                                       #

She tries to put that favorite poem of her's to sleep
it wasn't easy as it spoke of pain, made her weep,
kept on talking about losses, promises not kept,
fighting losing wars, strifes and  getting  lost.

She waited for the night, fully covered in black tresses
the ample woman, compassionate, who gently would caress
in night's presence and  deft manoeuvres all weeping stops.

She sighs, no more poems resurrecting the reign of pain, she hopes
forgets what makes her nightly haunt this place, that she is a ghost

Her peals of laughter, gently rocks, wakes him up
takes away from a midnight dream's warm embrace,
one dream to the other, what she is up to, he feels bit cheated,
like many times before, bit weary of misleading senses,
they are friends of course, distractors too, if unaware of their penchant

Perking his ears he listens, wind whistling in the woods,
rain drops on leaves create sounds of soft laughter.
Every where she is, the nymph, the ethereal presence,
in dreams, in the spirited dance of clouds, in swirl of water
and waves, when the birds play flute from their perches,
in flights that seems meditative trances beyond mind.

She is tranquility incarnate, beauty that grabs mind's eyes
mother who consoles at the time of distress and pain.
The night is silent again, the rain clouds too left to rest
yellow clad moon peeps above the clouds, many gifts we
forget to enjoy, some times without being aware, one leaves

Wearing a drab dress, all white,
I see a girl child of about eight
seemingly lost, perhaps left alone to fight
her continuing wars with a callous world,
walking hurriedly all by herself along
a desolate street, that to me seems familiar
yes, it's in the part of the city, once I lived
which always was seen teeming with life
except perhaps in such mystery dreams.

Think of this, don't you in spirit live in many
different places, like hearts of lovers one cherishes
though now one hardly remembers, how
it happened and where it was or how many
different persona constitute, the 'You, you think are You'

Like a somnambulist she walks along  the tree lined street,
I was watching her through a  window set high,
as she passed a young palm laden with coconuts,
and then a strange feeling gripped me and said
"It must be she, standing in this cozy room's warmth
and isn't that I, taking faltering steps along the street,
where she has been never before and don't know
what  awaits her or any other beyond that corner"

Is she a refugee from somewhere, an orphan whom
the world has jettisoned, with nothing to look forward?
An improbable adventurer aged just eight, still
ready to stare a dark, overcast day, on it's face fearless?

I just flew out of the window and was astonished at that feat
and  the speed; who would think I could pull it off?
I flew following her as if fearing for my dear life,
as if she and I have a cryptic connection I forgot,somehow
Where is she?my heart in palpitation,I flow with the wind.

At the busy traffic junction,
lone woman,
                     in red track suit,
astride a motorcycle,
drenched wet in a sudden rain,
                          wait;
                           ­        *thousand eyed desire,
                                        court her in a hurry,
                                              before the red signal light
                                                           ­   turns green.

She turned to a stone, before his unbelieving eyes!
in earlier times this would be counted as the result of a  curse,
an analysis, on how it happened seemed futile, so he didn't pursue
He chisel and hammer ominously were left somewhere,
she was irretrievably trapped, within a queer shaped stone .

She still is the greenest tree in absence,
              in my land of obliterated dreams,
the golden fruit my heart desired,
              still hangs there, a phantom limb,
my mind hibernates,under the shade of
                   the banyan tree of renunciation,
still my battle is fierce,Buddha path
                  or tempting fruit of unquiet desires.



ബോധി വൃക്ഷത്തിലെ കാമഫലം

എൻറെ മായ്ച്ചുകളഞ്ഞ സ്വപനങ്ങളുടെ ഭുമിയിൽ
അഭാവത്തിലും പച്ചച്ച മരമാണവൾ
എന്റെ ഹൃദയം  മോഹിച്ച സുവർണഫലം
ഒരു 'ഭൂതാവയവം'പോലെ അതിൽ
ഇപ്പോഴും തൂങ്ങിക്കിടക്കുന്നു !
നിരാസത്തിന്റെ ആൽമരത്തണലിൽ
എന്റെ മനസ് ഹേമന്തനിദ്രയിൽ.
ഇ പ്പോഴും എന്റെ പോര് തുടരുന്നു ;
ബുദ്ധ പാദം പിന്തുടരുകയോ ,
അശാന്ത മോഹങ്ങളെ തേടിച്ചെന്നു പുണരുകയോ?
(MALAYALAM translation)

As he sits there alone, west wind blows with a hiss
That moment, brings to mind her searing, passionate kiss
See, how fast the river of life once brimmed dried up,
Yet the seeds of memories planted within the reach
As if in a safe,  atmosphere controlled green house still flower,
Once in awhile, though in faded colors just to please  him.

A corpse buried six feet deep under the earth,speaks
peacefully to the night that extends to galaxies
that cyclically take birth and embrace death.
A night owl sits like a rock cut figure, it's ears
opened to the heart beats of sleeping silence,
finds out the secret that lie beyond life and death,
immaterial to the beings that mastered the art
of hitching a ride on the wings of  transcendence.

A stir in the air,
parakeet helicopters,
silence reigns again.

The sheep were  in the pen, sheltered for the night
we then sat around the log fire to chat till we fall asleep,
under the open sky ,in a clearing on a wintry night.

Contrary to  what I gathered, he was full of life,
there weren't  any lines of worry, nor his face woebegone.
The heardsman looked cheery, humming tunes he loved aloud
which the pesky mountain wind, snatched and spread too soon.

I quiz  him about his treks to find pastures for the herd,
"Isn't it a task tiring , in the rough mountain terrain?"

"It's not me who leads the hungry herd to the pastures" he says
"As it is made the world to believe by those never had seen a pasture
The sheep know where the grass in green, and find the shortest path,
as pleasing them is my only wish , I dutifully follow their lead."

In a world, somewhere beyond the senses of human
a woman fell in love with a man,
he could be me too.In no way she could see
all(every one )of me, or I her; yet we know each other
in our magnificent ignorance of universe, that
makes things work for us in this world we live.

A sea of bubbles, each universe is copy of some other
as a lost pair in parallel universes, if researched enough
I would have found there are millions of she and I, exist
in numerous universes, doing things in all
permutations and combinations, I am sure.

If I take me as a Romeo, I can't happily court tragedy,
remember in some of these worlds where a different
law of physics works(a different Newton existed, apple didn't fall)
our love could become a super success, Shakespeare there
would have been forced to write a different classic.
In some other world a different tragedy might have occurred
I am not one , but multitudes,  in planets of different universes,
I am the past, the present and the future awaited, I am the same cat
Schrodinger has donated his name and made famous
that made life and death suspects

I am the 'atman'- the essence absolute, in human beings
that yearns deeply  to merge in  the absolute consciousness 'brahmam'
about what the Indian sages of yore spoke in 'Upanishads'
millenniums before quantum mechanics saw the light of the day.
Brahmam, the absolute, non-duel in unmanifested part of the universe, beyond knowing
by a cryptic play becomes matter and manifests before us, bit by bit
Higgs boson,  please catch  the cosmic slight of hand red handed.

A hunter is in my core, with an angry roar,
                   in to this forest I stray with a vengeance,
where ancient trees, serpentine vines,
                   with thick under growth tangle like ghosts in heat
and there in the dark center stands
                  the mysterious beast wearing a grotesque mask,
the heroic hunter can't wait any longer,
              **he removes the mask, I face me, the intrepid beast.

The hysteria of night, I feel
like a tug in my pining lovelorn heart
that pronounces her name again and again
her name flows back as a magic river
and I stand on a rock in the past,
time, I once told her, is magical
and meaningless as magic too is,
that amounts to nothing, yet we rejoice.

The hysteria of night is mellow wine,
she told me not to remember her again
she was magic, magician's special design,
appears and disappears at will, one would think
but no,  every magic lasts for a while.
The parting kiss was most passionate ever,
can interpret dreams, how can one explain this?

The hysteria of night begins when moonbeams
fall on us, she gets the message from
an unknown source, from the depth at first,
she makes me touch her left breast that transmits it,
I used to wonder about the need for rituals,
now I understand what it means.

We were possessed by the hysteria of universe,
to create, empower each other by our
frenzied caresses with fingers of love
that are long, long and search, reach to the depth,
long moments of love becomes a gooey broth
in which we flow, float, play and peak.

He asks for a coil of wire
changes it in to a slithering snake.
The illusionist mocks
the certainty about things ,
creates a riot of laughter
irrationality sits light on our shoulders
like friendly doves, when he performs.

Tampering with reality
to cajole absurdity out of it,
was making fun of God's authority,
someone murmured,
we kids thought God claimed importance,
a bit too much,
why, at times God's actions
are no different from us,
thoughtless kids.
We loved the jiggery-pokery
of the illusionist, who made
reality stand on its hands, with his tricks.
And the anarchy he brought
in dealing with our expectations!
who would expect to pull out cow dung,
from a bag where he put a cat?
The illusionist says seriously like a scientist,
"I ape God and this world, that's all"

Standing before the masterpiece
she lamented it's incompleteness,
nothing ever gets completed in universe
thank homeostasis for the illusion

This

innocuous, looking,ancient brown
papyrus scroll contains, on every inch of it
wisdom invaluable, rare to find
(we guess)

But
we are relieved of a misery as none has
been ever successful in reading the script
not a bit , even once, hence staling won't help anyone.

So

there is no security risk in keeping it open
in full view of  all, in case someone ingeniously cracks it
we too can rejoice for this miracle, otherwise let us
sit like this, hoping for this winter gloom to somehow end.

All*
we look for is for some  cheer, even someone
with ulterior intentions is fine  , let any one show up
for once, breaking it open letting know what is in there
so precious, is it all we need to rejoice, theory of everything


*any one?

Bright white silence
Blue wavy chants
flames of roaring red,

on white, blue bled,
bluest red or white?
let it get sorted out
whitening bluish red
in rapid slashes over
reddened bluish white,
all  wriggle like eels
bond the way
it is meant to be,
Jackson *******'s blue poles
whisper in white and red
"kindred spirits
come home, tiptoe in"

Time marches through
the path seasons clear
mixing paint and
painting cave walls
never stops,
murals speak in many
cryptic tongues
day and night;
the denizens listen.
cave men and women
in their ritualistic dances
try to forget this
cave wall speakings,
could they ever succeed?

We'd return tired from the green patches we toil,
or  in deep blue, we sail our crafts days on end,
ordinary folk, we are, we worship work
morning sun wakes us up as soon as he shows up,
we set about quick and stand our ground till the sun leaves,
we are worried about nothing, no quills for us nor frills,
one thought leads us forward, we seek light, till it lasts
we fought, relentlessly we did,to make both ends meet,
we fought, we fought, to stop the rot, day in and day out

We ate cooked cassava root, drank spring water,
when winter came, we shivered in palm leaf thatched huts,
all those who were known smart had their proclivities and fads,
on the streets,we buy and sell, we haggle all through our lives,
nobody seeks us for anything, we are invisible, in the dark
we have no special place in anything, anywhere.

Silently we fought, kept  our aching  souls clean,
never we were in ballads, tales or honor lists,
in every roll call, our names went missing,
when nemesis struck, it came for us first
in times of calamities, our bodies lay strewn
all over the country and all around the  towns,
every one was rescued and kept in shelters
authorities loudly claimed but it was not about us
we waited and waited yet relief didn't come.

ONE shadow ruefully told the other ,
it has fallen in love with,
defying the logic the shadows
are supposed to follow,
not to be deceived by darkness
or light,that creates what one perceives.

"How long we've been marking time
trying in vein,to break loose from the
patronizing glare of lights, that kept
us slaves of it's love.Good riddance!"

Two bright bulbs, utterly tired, of burning
so long,which made it possible for the shadows
day dream,slowly shut their eyes in weariness,
oblivious of the wild talk of the shadows
that reflected a perfect vision of fallacy,

No one any more would see, even a penumbra
of either of the shadows,in that darkened heaven.

Underwater they quickly become fish,
she likes it that way, he concedes her every wish,
"An eel, aren't you?" raunchily she pretends astonishment,
big fish with an avid mouth she is, he knows so well.

On a journey now, am I hurriedly,
to the center within myself,
where I haven't ever tried to enter,
but has a yen to reach effortlessly
at an hour earliest, I can.
I can see how curious you are,
all dressed up and ready to go,
but strange, not going anywhere!

Will you show me the way
as you are dispassionate and calm;
I gather our partnership surely should work!

Prelude
"Let's go" his soft whisper
the mantra, in his voice she hears

the esoteric voyage through
the cryptic high seas of self,
fathomless, unmapped,
uncharted and reachable
only by the most fearless
ready to unbind and make
the self free for it's adventure,
begins thus for the peaceful pair
complementing the absolute
for a life time, til they reach there
and find themselves one with
                      pure consciousness.

"Let's let's, but only together"
she chants in unison,with him.

1.
Bidding good bye to ego, clad in red and black
a beast, not easy to bring to it's  knees, submit,
the high horse proud,raring to go,having  sharp horns
sticking out, fierce, that goes berserk,on seeing white.
Altogether a curious construct, that dictates terms-
they set about, invoking the blessing of the flame of light.
2
They stood together,  eyes widely shut, bringing
both palms together,in front of their  chests
creating a lotus bud, symbolizing hearts,bowing
each other in "Namaste",-bows the divinity in thyself-
chanting the mantras of peace, thrice, each time, repeatedly.
3
"Lets go back to the begining of every begining.."
the primordial hum, transcending quagmires of time
in the path of our ancestors,who did see the" unseeable",
without eyes, knew the "unknowable",diving in to the
ocean depth of self,going inwards chanting"Neti, Neti"
Not this, Not this, inquiring each till the essence did reveal.
4
They did this, focusing the eye of the mind, on the eye
beyond all, that watches every small thing in universe.
Mind, sharpened like the blade of a sword,efficient to cut
the Gordian knots,of paradox, duality and illusion,
encountering the silence that thickens at last, speaks
the words of wisdom,patient they are, to know the ultimate,
right there at the source of light that is the true essence of all,
5
Celebrate the pure consciousness, that pervades in every thing,
the thought that begets all thoughts,that  moves on to be karma,
that becomes purer, through the cycles of lives, one after another.
"Let's be humble, utmost, sans the ornamental clothes of pride.
May the thought reigning cosmos, the spirit of peace,chanted aloud,
take us to it's sanctum sanctorum and melt us in to it's divine embrace.
Only one there is, all are it's integrals,the divine cosmic hum 'Aum'
that enliven the universe within each cell, remember , is eternal"
                                                #@@#

There was a young man  in Travancore,
who joined a program to control anger,
The instructor, a sultry, bold miss
suggested, "Let's start with a kiss"
Her stunning  range upended the ******.

His courtiers all, were blind,
though their eyes seemed
quiet normal, full of glint

ay, there is the rub,

On his proud countenance,
the king plastered for ever
an expression of thoughtfulness
a make believe, a clever construct,
Wasn't it the curse of the lineage?

"May the powerful suffer
the constant fear of fall,
unless courageous to fulfill
the karma truly assigned
without fear or favor"

Every successive king
would ritualistically burn,
his copy of leather bound parchment
written this in lilting Latin verse.

"*******,what would
the evil genius of the universe
would think of me, am I
just a pusillanimous *****?
the thirst for war runs in my veins!"

Sneering he lets out a war cry
perfectly pitched and phrased
in the tradition of heroes of yore!

It sounds odd even to himself
"No escape from the rut" he murmurs

Everybody pretend not to see
the big ***** in his armor.
who would take arms against
the kingdom's sea of troubles?

The king was in fact a lonely being
fear alone kept him company,
in person of the lord, his man Friday
in an armor that made him seem fearless!

Dame fear was his true consort
the queen only a substitute, wearing crown,
she was truly appreciated
only when she acted as his tranquilizer,
helping his worries galore go to sleep,
employing complex strategies.

Her favorite one for the final lap
was a lullaby that goes thus,
"Uneasy lies the head
that wears a  crown"
in his nightmares regular,
mighty empires crumbled.

So he did the best he can
not anything for love to spread
but to consolidate destructive instinct;
he invented weapons,
went on upgrading it
day in and day out to freeze fear
blacksmiths, knights,
horsemen, cannons, guns
his fear took many forms
and he used them to feel powerful
while trembling with fear.

She was love-
tasting like revenge,
not in a hurry, but
deliberately as she desired.

-a dark searing kiss
that drew blood,
from my lower lip;
getting the dormant
******* in me ready,
in a bit,

I counted it a forgotten pleasure,
playing just sadist, as circumstances permit,
it was, if you want to know
for sure a class act,
she knew how to do it.

in my writing, she said
sounding like an analyst,
i was preoccupied with dark birds,
' i see their presence,
on tree top hide outs,
ominous darkness sitting quiet
with folded wings'

blood in my lower lip
tasted salt,
the hibiscus flower on her raven hair
(reminding animal behavior
on certain periods of need)
to me is a symbol,
she and i know, of what.

I peered in to her ***** dark eyes,
thought what she said was
false.
)O(

Flower, passion filled lover,
remember ever, the very first moment
we forgot our separate existences
became one, melting in a fragrance.

The kite gets  high, stays aloft-
quite some time displaying
enviable dexterity, for fun
do spectacular  somersaults as much times
as it could, climbs up in air with a loud swoosh
then look! how the wind gets *****
with her, if she has something
of  a skirt, it goes up, up to an
indecent height, she doesn't have
that balance a player at such
heights should have kept always.
Its absurd, all these acrobatics silly kite
displays before the world at high altitudes
with a unholy interest
to show herself more accomplished
than what she really is, could you
pardon that frivolity, because she
has many more colors than clouds.

He admits abashedly that he too was
once in love with her frivolous attractiveness,
but he never could understand a kite;
in spite of the lightness, that makes
it easier to travel heights, has kite a significance?
After all what is a kite? her merit?
a strange arrangement that defies
common sense, all it can do is aimless flying.

Isn't it a charge serious enough?
even a dry leaf, or a falling feather
can do these acrobatics for a while.
What is the meaning of a kite,
kindly someone notify , if it has any,
meaningless flying is not for anything
of substance, what kind of play
is it,   if it is perceived as one, by any one
why the folly of someone take us
for a ride all these years, without
a second thought, he wonders
who might have promoted it,  had some
ulterior motive, some point to prove;
wind, mightiest of forces is made to look weak
in everyday life .
He would suspect, in the bargain many
generations too spent their time
in this vein pursuit without any thought.
Any kite display a greed to go up and
stay there, till the time it is possible to float
don't want to be back, when wind is on her side
unless force is applied, what does it signify?

Kite has a hunger to touch wonder with its fingers
he knows, and he can't but appreciate it
and when the occasion arises she fly up to the cloud,
play with him as if he is her secret lover, that hurts
could such a liaisons are to be  be tolerated
she knows how a cloud tastes at different times
Yes, sky certainly intoxicates her,
she want to move closer, doesn't it spell danger?

Roads keep on teaching us new lessons in violence,
rage is the law ruling the perfectly chaotic traffic
you are left to fend yourself in this murky waters
where killer whales celebrate the success of  blood thirst.

Men who don't properly breath are atrocious on roads
behind the wheels,they jump signals, break rules
as if their poor mamas made them promise to do all this!
a law  to send such cases to yoga class would do good.
But women with bad driving skills as their assets for life
are no less, in making our lives on each journey miserable

In a road where with impunity, suicide squads operate
your poetic musings, will have to stop, to remain alive.

Just then a police car with a roar stop in my front
authority makes me weary but the cop  behind the wheels
a woman, tells me the story of beauty than a cop's authority
on how beauty softens heat that makes muscles go stiff
She springs out of the cabin of the vehicle she is in
making ripples feminine and also ease in the air.

violence of the machines and the minds in controlling,
speed, broken rules and the thrill of chasing criminals
beauty which brings a change where it is out of place almost.

As I drift in to sleep, after a long drive safe,and few stiff drinks
in my dream's window she sits winking,'drive safe all through life'
"Good by my good cop"I whisper "be soft and right,authority is mess"

In deep psychedelic trance
his companion painted
canvases that mix past,
present and future, factually
as quantum physics would vouch;
all of it co-exists, don't turn
a blind eye, it's not fair.

"There is more past here
that try to unseat future,
than the presence of present,
we would make reality sleep
won't believe in its patented lies,
we'd create a present,
in its fantasy, see the future"

The narrative is pictured as fallows:
The Cat and the Mouse
stopped their games,
they invented as a past time,
and also serious business.
Lucky prince befriended
a happy pauper.
The beauty beguiled
the friendly beast,
both eloped and
lived happily somewhere.

The bored king hugged
the leader of the coup
"I was dying
to abdicate at the earliest,
you were my last hope,
good riddance" he yawned,
sounding like cockerel.
He looked much relieved;
uneasy is the head
on which a crown sits
like a ****** politico
at the moment of election result.

The painter watching
what is going on said:
"Well, the colors I selected
this far, were all wrong.
Now, I am going to look twice
before I decide"

But when she worked
on her imagination
her manifesto was thrown out,
she was far more spontaneous
there is the rub.

Can't say, whether
the philosopher was pleased or not,
one can't  definitely tell
he only smiled and hurried back to
catch the last bus he missed.

The young woman, plain, was unsmiling behind the control panel,
a ribald passion filled his veins, her mien has to do something,
the airfield was deluged by waves of grief, among them
was those robust women, he tried to forget but couldn't
who may defeat the purpose, if he takes a second look.

She gave her word to fly the single engine airplane
"Don't fear darling, i am an aerobatics specialist
if need arises i wouldn't hesitate to crash land,
take care of your hurt, bleeding lonely heart".
How reassuring! never would he turn back,
after this difficult take off awaited life long.
No more entries in this log book.

Her dark make up, was feline an added attraction
that gave him a libidinous surge, an ******* with ample promises,
to last till he reaches his destination final, from where
the return flight, is even unthinkable the lady pilot winks.

This Cessna to the unknown, has the aphrodisiacal scent of
wild orchid flowers he once discovered in the far stretches
of the Western Ghat mountain ranges
and ******* secretions of one particular lover
a reminder perhaps death wants to carry as it happens

In the tired light
from the fire lit in the pyre
he saw a drop of tear
quivering on her withered cheek.
He longed,
but  having no right
to console her
left without a word;
stepped in to the darkness
that unfolded its black carpet.

The best poems of mine,
were written in my heart,
only for you to read;
you forgot, where it was kept,
and left without a word.

A letter of intent, so clear, addressing me
written in exquisite feminine form,
in the script of love, her eyes encrypted;
only I'll be entitled to read it, none else,
and undertake the next delicate move.
It comes gliding towards me, isn't it magic?

Nothing unexpected this , in fact two pair of eyes
for a cool one week,did negotiations in intense silence
pregnant with desire, culminating in love,
                                                           ­         the scent of love
elates, it's in the morning air, binds us together, wafts!
Yes, you are the wild flower, the honeybee is here.