Anamika

they are not gorgeous as the roses,
their smell, not familiar as the tuberoses,
but they have a sublime charm,
a hop in their dance,
a toddler-like innocence
and, 

a fragile smile to match,
that makes you pause,
to notice the shy pink petals,
on the lush green canvas
and tempt you to bend over,
nurse their tender stems,
and then,
you're blown off your senses!

a breeze wafted through the plants
and they broke into a dance,
and my knees shivered
someone asked its name
half-lost, I muttered
anamika.

but,
did it matter?


© sasikant mohanty