A pleasant smell
brings me to the place.
It is like Jasmine
I say to myself.
Turning nosy
I walk to the garden.
Last I saw Jasmine
was a year ago.
It is the season,
the flowers are there.
Fantasy lies in the fragrance
unique to the soil.
Madurai Malli, as known
blossoms with a delicacy.
The garden glitters
in a greenish white hue.
Meenas Poems 