Petals, in my pages.
The scent of a scene.
The road is taking turns,
In misty expectation.
In the air wafts
Elaichi.
White blooms from northern land,
Why do they smell so?
On a winter’s day,
There is always chai,
Masala and Elaichi,
Standing in the middle of
Intersecting memories,
Floating petals, and
Wilting trees.
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