It may be the source of the divinity,
Abstract, physical, philosophical;
Read or saw for a moment or ages,
Hiding in literal; or metamorphical!
Imagine what’s subdued in a shadow,
Concealed in chasm of past-morrow;
To trace is to race against two ends,
What is rare is veiled in cryptic bells.
May climb mountains, & walk roads,
Drive into dusty, storms with blues;
And shades of its façade and rues,
Tracing Scent of that nectar’s hue!
© Pranav Chaturvedi 2026