Shiuli and Marigold

If she is the pastelest tinge of lilac, I was the darkest shade of yellow.

If she is the fruity scent of eau de millesime, I was a large vapour of sandalwood ittar.

If she is the soft breeze that makes the clouds dance, I was the rain thereafter in which drenched the peacock.

If she is a ghazal of Hariharan, I was a baraati peppy.

If she is the subtle tang of Swiss dark chocolate, I was the sweet savour of jalebi.

If she is a wave in the ocean that reverts every minute to the shore, I was the golden sand that waited throughout.

If she is Shiuli, I was her Marigold.

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