Treasure Island

Nikhil Parekh

(27/08/1977 / Dehradun, India)

you were indeed my loving wife

You were my appetizing and delicious cake; without the tiniest globule
of red
You were my stupendous palace; without the flamboyantly towering
You were my impeccable canister of milk; without the most minuscule
trace of
You were my flute with mesmerizing sound; without the most
inconspicuous of
glamorous beats,
You were my plate of scintillating ivory; without superfluous carvings
embossed in abundance,
You were my swirling ocean; without the cumbersome and bulky ships
it every unveiling second,
You were my sprawling meadows of fresh grass; without glistening
dewdrops and
obnoxious fertilizer,
You were my breathtaking aircraft in the sky; without the luxuriously
You were my traditional dancer; without any traces of pomp and
You were my cascading fountain of delectable froth; without spurious
effervescence and shimmering lights,
You were my silvery pearl incarcerated within the oyster; without
traces of
sanctimonious gold,
You were my ensemble of voluptuous hair; without the slightest aroma of
perfumed shampoo,
You were my candle of pure wax; without artificial fires blazing;
invidiously from your wick,
You were my romantic flamingo; without disdainful paint adhered to your
You were my hard bound book of enchanting fairy tales; without any
tinge of
mystery and adulterated thrill,
You were my tendrils of redolent musk; without any presence of the
room freshener,
You were my solid brick wall; without vivid color and pretentious
You were my immaculate lines of literature embedded on the blackboard;
any mentions of the swanky computer,
You were my coalition of clouds in the sky; without the most
trace of contemporary spacecraft,
And you were indeed my Loving wife; the girl of my dreams; without the
of embellishment; passionately breathing rustic draughts of air;
smiling far
away from the land of ostentation. 

Submitted: Saturday, August 16, 2014

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