Searching- A saga ✔

38- Butter thief

Drums blared out their baritone drone,

Trumpets echoed and the conches were blown.

Dancers jumped and flourished in circles

Together jingled the bells in their ankles.

Sprinkles of water scented with rose,

like iridescent pearls, they glittered up close.

Each moment in time ticked with power,

As that solitary boy climbed up the tower.

Of humans, one above the other,.

Fireworks blazed and crackled farther,

Into the heavens, above the sky,

As the rainbow gleamed a smile so high.

This is Vrindavan, the land of love,

This is Vrindavan, the land of the Tulsi Grove,

Come here and you'll enjoy love so pure,

Come here and you'll realise your life so sure.

The crowd amassed threw the flowers,

At the tower of boys gathered, in showers,

Golden marigold and  silver jasmine,

They shimmered and fluttered like satin.

Dancers danced whilst musicians sang,

Rich temple bells, so gladly rang,

A rhythm to the life, this dance of fate,

All for love, not a pinch for hate.

Each person thrived in joyous bliss,

As the sun blew the horizon a kiss,

The town blazing in the richness of gold,

Everyone watched- young and old.

The tower of boys, one above the other, so high,

To reach the pot of butter tied to the ceiling of sky,

Eighteen in the lowest row, balancing ,

On their shoulders, the weight of those remaining.

That tower of boys, row upon row,

They climbed to reach the hanging bow,

Stuck to the huge butter filled urn,

It seemed my heart couldn't more with longing burn.

That solitary boy climbed up the tower,

Up above the rest and reached for the urn's cover,

One hand within, spilling the butter loot,

Another on His waist, caressing a wooden flute,

A feather of peacock fluttered in His head band,

That spilled waves of curls like soft sand,

His face......most beautiful,like a dream...

Prettier than midnight, it may seem,

Those starry eyes filled with love,

So pure and thick like an innocent dove,

Shaped like lotus, lined by long lashes,

They flickered like stars and danced like ashes.

His dark tilted face sported a lopsided grin,

Framed by ruby lips, that wash away every sin,

Softer than rose, sweeter than honey,

Worthier much than all of world's money.

His mellow gold robes billowed in a phantom wind,

That's the boy, my Prince who is dark-skinned,

The tilted face with that teasing smirk,

That sends my heart into a cartwheel quirk,

The cross legged stance and that bewitching gaze,

Which floods every soul with enlightening daze,

Renders my heart beautifully love drowned,

And I stare at Him paralysed and astound.

This is Vrindavan, the land of love,

This is Vrindavan, Kanha's secret alcove,

Come here and we can play Holi,

With milk, curd, butter and ghee.

That dark skinned divinity dipped His hand,

Into the butter and withdrew a grand,

Copious amount of that cottony butter,

And tossed it to the crowd that began to utter-

"Krishna Murari  Govinda Hari,

Jai Yaduvanshi, Dwarakapati"

Come here and we can play Holi.

But with milk, curd, butter and ghee.

I gather my skirts and flick Him a smile,

And turn away, for I've to cover another mile,

My undeviated quest to reach Him,

And so I came to Vrindavan with a hopeful glim.

This is Vrindavan, the land of love,

This is Vrindavan, Kanha's secret alcove,

Come here and you'll enjoy love so pure,

Come here and you'll realize your life so sure.

Come here and we can play Holi,

But with milk, curd, butter and ghee.

A rhythm to the life, this dance of fate,

All for love, not a pinch for hate.