I view, that world, thru my nostrils
Which transcends, palate, sight, and sound
I’m lost, in a farm, of daffodils
Which bloom, in my heart, like a, pain profound!

From my mother’s, first milk, to frankincense
Which smoldered, in soul, since, my baptism
Till a boy, breathed in, that seminal sense
Those worldly rites, from a, man’s prism!

My love’s, sweet sniff, her menstrual whiff
o’er, wedding bed, deflowered roses’, creed
My mother’s, warm tears, on my, cold handkerchief
At her funeral, I felt, white widowed, lilies bleed!

In my, newborn child, I smell, an age
That fragrance, of, lost nonchalance
Life is a, sensuous, pilgrimage
Thru The, Sundry Scents, Of Senescence!

© 2020 Vikas Chandra