Lust
Last league of March, after spring had reached its peak,
I opened my doors to abeer.
And sunshine.
She grinned,
Wished,
Ran,
And shrieked in delight when I caught her.
The saffron on the curves of her hips is mine.
The azure on the rise of her breasts.
The dark, raunchy purple on her lips.
The vermilion on her forehead is not,
And when dusk fell, it drew her away from me.
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Date: 29 / 10 / 2016
This poem was written in celebration of 'Holi', the festival of colour. The idea was to draw a parallel with the tale of Radha-Krishna, which itself is a story of an affair.
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