She Smells

By Yash Abhrankash Panda

she smells like a flood of butterflies,

kissing me in a lawn while i lie.

she smells like the best flavor of henna

or mouthful of honey and i cry -

"oh, love of mine! i pine for thine touch.

so true and kind; you smell like fine herbs!

you grew into me like a wave leviathan sends;

scares me the bible."

she smells like one who fears the loss

before even one wins.

she smells like mud which the first

rain creates for the kids' play. she once said -

"don't praise me a lot, i know you lie a lot.

i haven't felt this way in a long while; nuh-uh!

don't tell me it's real and then break me into tears.

darling, i love you a lot. just you, oh, don't disappear."

her pale yellow modesty turns into passion, red

and starts burning till it burns me; till i fret

and flee out of fear of any further revelation.

this world has toughened me. i, with an intention,

take pride in it; in the rock hard shell.

but there comes, here comes her rock-melting smell.

By Yash Abhrankash Panda