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Her hands explored the folds of her waistline, trembling fingers brushing gently—he realized her touch as a desired and loving embrace.
In dreams, the buzzing of flies around the ears becomes the echo of a lover’s whispered play, filled with kisses and affectionate touches.
May your glory, adorned with the fragrance of Meru and the south wind, bring you auspiciousness and victory until the sun rises again.
In night-blooms, he gives fragrance; in lotuses, he brings pain. Manmatha infuses even water with fire and love into cold moonstones.
The sweet scent lingering on their lips, sleepy red eyes, and wiped tilaka—beauty endures even in traces of passion.
Bees flutter over the lotus, wind carries their scent—but even among violence and bloodshed, this beautiful femininity remains pleased.
At day’s end, wind carrying pollen left her exhausted. Was it the lover’s madness or merely the touch of saffron pollen in the air?
Trees yield many sweet fruits and soft fragrances—but in your region, only the jackfruit’s bounty compares to the fullness of youth and beauty.
The early breeze rustling pollen and kadhamba trees teases the peacocks into dancing, while clouds gather to build monsoon drama.
The wind grants comfort—coolness to sages, food to birds, scent to elephants, shade to animals. Such is the service of a tree, unlike barren ones.
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