Hardik Vaidya (26 Dec 1969, yet to kick the bucket. / Mahuva, Gujarat, India.)
The sheer delight of gifting.
Closed palms of an infant.
Deep in sleep.
The little fingers clasp the universe.
To gift is human, to blossom feminine.
When I bought one,
25 rupees on ventilator.
I thought of you,
I saw your eyes,
The dew on petals captured the jewels in heavens.
I thought of your lips,
It turned into a red rosé.
My trembling hand reached it out,
The thorn tore a red drop of dew on my finger.
Never did blood look so pale, to the red rosé.
Your look made its value more than NYSE and LSE combined.
You took it, sheltered it near your bosom.
Your fragrance doused the universe.
You became the rose of my eternal Sahara.
Comments about this poem (Sahara. by Hardik Vaidya )
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