Within the unfold petals of time,
the eternal fragrance is contained since infinity,
the pollens of thought get scattered away …
with the sway of wind, stings of bees,
feathers of birds in different ways…
like the intellects chase knowledge and go astray…
The mind of anther still isn’t ripe,
to contain within…
the real feelings of time…
shielded by thick curtains of ego,
it remains always beside….
The stigma , when perceives,
by the stimulus of the touch,
in the senses of the flower,
the petals tend to unfurl their folds,
radiating the real flora…
Whose touch it was!
the innocent flower imagines…
It was the eternal magical touch…
which pushed it on the path divine…
Until then it lay foolishly,
scattering the pollens in different directions,
unwisely it had foreclosed
the doors of its precious anther.
The moment the light dawned upon..
the floral contours of the flower,
It shined and reflected the aura …
of a divine communion….
soumyav 