Kavyakankshini...bewitching words spun with spindles of thought and quicksilver yarn...: the perfume box...


the perfume box...

The spring urged me

To smell her virgin smells

Full of life, vibrant

Dancing off mango trees…

While I languorously

Dwelt in my past

Full of your smell

Hinting his smell

And their never fading smell….

Yours was like you

Inconceivable, brash

Open and suddenly shy!

Salty and uncertain

Sour at some places

Misty and fresh


His was deep

Coarse and heavy

Musky and hinting


Cleverly guised

Under crisp paper like aroma…

Theirs was stable

Predictable almost

Silent and consistent

Meek yet enriching

Stoic in its bearing

And it began and ended

In me…

It’s not like my past is smelly and rotting

It’s just that I love thinking of it all

In smells, emanating from tiny bottles

Holding those magical moments

Each distinctly dressing me, completing me

Defining me…

Now, I need a new box, a newer tiny bottle…

The spring beckons…

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