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Even the withering Dahlia shows you unnamed shades of brown mixed with its own sensuous vibrance.

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Dahlia✿

You pop out another blossom
thinking I found you
tracing the lore
conspicuously flaunting
affronted beauty
while sleeping wind passed by
biggest petal fell
with a droplet from my eye
Harked back about Grandma..
(Now read it reverse)

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" इन फूलों की महक ये एहसास कराती है कि खूबसूरत होना भी एक हुनर है कोई चेहरे से होता है तो कोई दिल से, जिस तरह एक भौंरा किसी फूल को बेजान बना देता है, वैसे ही उम्र इंसान को तोड़ने लगती है, फूल को पता नहीं कि उसके पास जो मंत्र है वो शहद बना देता है, मिठास बिखेर देता है, हम भी वैसे ही है जो ये नहीं समझ पाते हमारे में भी हुनर है खुश रहने का "

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We planned the meeting. It would take you 23 hours if you were to take the interstate. You weren't sure of the flight bookings, so ultimately, you took the train. I asked you for a dahlia from your terrace garden. You agreed.
When you met me the first time, you wore a solid lavender shirt, tucked at the waist in dark black trousers, and a backpack on your lazy shoulders. Your hair reflected the long hours of travel, eyes the need for sleep, but also, a restlessness to see me. I wanted to back out—too handsome for me! But you spotted me through the transparent door of the cafe. Left without an option, I walked into the cafe. You smiled. Being as inept as I could be, I knew I'd fall into the seat or trip over the high heels I'd worn to complement your six-footed physique. I won't say I'd already fallen head-over-heels, that would be such a horrible cliché. I didn't fall or trip. But the handkerchief in my hand fell. I wanted to kick myself for being clumsy. You asked me not to be jittery. I asked you for the dahlia. You said that you forgot about it. Your forgetfulness is going to be a problem in future, I had remarked. I returned home, zipped open my handbag, a dahlia fell down.

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आओ आकर देखो,
जिनको दफ्न कर गये थे तुम​
वक्त के गमलों मे कही

उनकी आभा अब है बहती आंगन में,

वो दो डेहलिया के फूल,
इस लू में भी रुमानियत महकाते फिर रहे हैं!

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The pods of Dahlia.. slaughtered by the jarring wind..

Oh yes! My values are too precious to be jarred..
I broke away and let my virtue breathe..

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February smells like the
Dahlia's in your hair,
Roses on your lips,
And Lily on your cheeks

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petals kissed by light
soft murmurs of evening air
shadows start to stretch

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"A Love Unspoken"
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Every evening, she placed a red dahlia on
his doorstep, hoping he would understand
her heart’s silent confession blooming in
vibrant petals.

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