It is March,

The month of her Spring,

When a soothing cold breeze…

Whiffs away the demons within.


It is March,

The season of her smile,

When every flower beckons at her with…

A promise divine.


It is March,

The return of her being,

When gushing daisies…..

Rustle and bespeak perforce,

Words of true love.


It is March,

The echo of her soul,

When valleys smile…

Enamoured by her will,

And demure persistence.


— Shalini.

Hold my hand……


She looked at him and wondered, from whence this spring?

He looked at her and his fancies took wings…

For long their worlds were deserted

Bereft of mellowed hearts

For long their hands had ached to touch….


And here they were

Wondering at this gush,

This forever bliss

An eagerness to rush…….


To sip every bit

Of all the love,

Of all the wonder

That brought them closer…..


“Just how deep is it?”, she wonders aloud,

“Stay still, and do not question”, he says

And holds his breath,

Till she smiles again at him,

And wonders,

Just from whence this spring?

That fills her soul

With aromas and scents…..


“It is your eyes

That carry the wonders of the world.

Harsh realities….

Turn into a soft glow in them.

It is how these eyes…..

Smile as they behold mine”


She knows about the eternal spring

That lives in him

And brightens her soul

Very deep within…..





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