Pure in it's gleaming marble white
a rare conch shell, well formed,
with 'reverse turning spiral',*
he holds, in both palms with reverence
closer to his naked chest, where
his beating caged heart tries to create
echoes, as if it, in an unknown
mysterious way, represents
a myth entwine him with pure nature.
An intriguing remains, retrieved,
from the accumulated deep sea secrets,
where still his memories vaguely roam
in another life, as a creature of the deeps.
The conch he is aware, hides tender notes
that bridles air, water and fire, cosmic ripples
prods him subtly to accelerate  his quest,
a swim towards the maelstrom of inner core,
commingling with the music cosmos conducts
every moment, with it's billion piece orchestra grand.

She is a flame burning in clarified butter,
his consort,her eyes reflect a concurrent spirit,
both her palms she bring together ,makes a lotus thus
and a red blooming lotus is nestled between palms.
Her lotus speaks of  fecundity,from which flows love and life
generations, descend find succor, in the gentle fragrance,
and warmth, the lotus, protects, even at the midst of a freeze.
Her eyes are blissfully half closed immersed in the fragrance
wafting in the air spreading in waves far and wide.