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sit with me before the dance
in my little thatch hut
on a mat of yellow reeds
together we’ll string
garlands
marigolds, jasmine,
roses
to offer at His petite, azure feet
with glossy red kisses
we’ll serenade our Sri Krishna
weave peacock feathers through His
perfumed tresses
the Yamuna river is lit up with
lotus lanterns and
vrindavan incense
we have adorned ourselves
in the finest silk saris
and red *** *** dots
we are ready with
aching, ardent hearts to
dance with the Lord
come into our eager, hopeful arms
darling Giridhari
GR Jan 2017
Dancing
On the five headed serpent
Whose fangs represent
Desire, anger, hate, lust and greed,
I see
The blue lord of Vrindavan

His victorious caper
A stark reminder
Of his complete mastery
Over the five poisons of life
Enslaving humanity at large

© 2017
We’ve clicked zero photos, Motu
Not a single frame to freeze us in pixels,
No smiling selfie, no captured chai cup,
No picture to prove we were ever “us.”

But what is proof, when da soul remembers?
When da eyes hold stories no lens can capture,
When silences between us have said more
Than any caption ever could.

We are a friendship without filters,
A story written in whispers,
And not crafted for timelines
We are da invisible thread, Krishna tied
Without needing flash or filters.

We fought…yes!!!
More than we should’ve.
I don’t know whose nazar passed over our bond
But I know it’s not stronger than what we’ve built.

You say this equation is difficult…
I agree.
But I also know da rarest bonds…
Are never easy to explain,
They are only meant to be felt!!!

Motu, I might be flawed,
But my intentions, they’re sacred.
Like temple bells at dawn,
Like verses whispered in Vrindavan’s breeze.

I didn’t come to this course to find anyone…
But I found you!!!
And that’s the twist in da story
My biggest gift wrapped in an unwanted journey.

So yes, we’ve clicked zero photos.
But we’ve lived a thousand moments.
Moments that breathe in my notebooks,
Moments tucked between lectures and lingering glances,
Moments scribbled in blue ink on your kurta,
Moments that feel more real than any frozen frame.

Ours is not a story for Instagram.
It’s a sacred secret shared between
A boy who fumbled with words
And a girl who saw right through da silence.

And someday, when life scatters us like paper boats,
When people ask me… Do you have a photo of her?
I’ll smile softly and say,
No… but I have everything else.
                                                                               By:- Kanishk Baghel

— The End —