The rapture

The smoke from wet chips of firewood

wrapped flames of the holy fire; she stood.

The trembling hennath dyed bud,

silver rings for all the five

petals- hadn’t i ceremoniously clasped

this hand in the morn before the fire?

Wasn’t it blooming at night

shyly inside my hand again?

The brass lamp showered gold,

a tender hand trembled inside my hold.

Aspirations, dreams and cravings, such all

played in quick succession shadows on the wall.

She stood like a ray of flame bold

clothed in saree embroidered in gold.

Her blushing face when I raised

cuckoos cooed, snakes spread hoods,

peacocks played ‘kavadi’,

petals opened on virgin lips,

approaching wolves hungrily howled.

When hands, lips and limbs

restlessly ran over each other’s body

in my every pulse, every nerve

she had throbbed like a thrill.

I saw, touched and drank

the moonlight of beauty; in the ecstasy

the feaminine facets of the nature came

as the sights that stirred midnight breeze,

the sea who combed her wavy curls,

sweats of dews, lactiferous peaks,

smiles beaming on lightning flashes,

mysteries hidden under nightly chillness,

reluctance of the afternoons to retire

the mountain slopes where aspirations flowered.

It was she, the deluding damsel;

nay, a fancy;

but she had permeated into every pore in me.

Splashing against the ocean waves,

Spreading robes of clouds in the winds,

She hummed rare symphonies

In the breeze and had scattered

Glittering jewels in the darkness;

Moonbeams shed from her smiles,

the pink of evening on her cheeks:

For the first time I drank

The immaculate beauty;

And I stood for a while

Dazed in the intoxication...