On my windowsill

The woodland pixies sit still

With a touch too much

Of guileless innocence

In their toothless pink smiles

Peeking through an emerald sprawl

That glows greener in the twilight

And they, the peeping pixies,

Blush

Like ethereal brides

Brimming with unbidden delight

Awaiting the dawn

That adorns the skies

With a pale luminescence

That graces the emeralds

With a teary reminiscence

And showers the dewy air

With tender sleepy kisses

From the wine-tainted pouts

Of sleeping beauties

That slowly awaken

To the golden tendrils of sunlight

Streaming in

And to the euphony of birds

Twittering

And they – they sit still and listen

Serene, poised, tranquil

Their hush is overwhelming

More so when the midsummer sun

Glowers at the still blushing brides

Whose painted lips huff and smirk

In silent amusement

While the sun

Suitably offended

Seems to stiffen

With the unspoken challenge

And puffs out hot winds that plow

Ruthlessly through the green

Like fiery, fearless stallions,

Marauding deliriously

In response, at first,

Pink lips seem to part in protest

And then pant with an insatiable thirst

Before they smile once again

And keep smiling stubbornly

Gradually –

Gradually the fire furrows and

Licks feebly at the pink and the green

Until the dying embers wheeze their last

And slump in defeat

Leaving the pixies to sashay

In the lingering radiance of their victory

The moon too softly beams down at

The steady smiles

Perched upon the green beauties

But as the nights grow darker and aloof

The smiles grow bittersweet and wrinkly

A little parched and weathered too

Until one fine cold wintry day

They eventually wither away and droop

But not before a lulling scent

Of newborn babes fills the air

Their toothless pink smiles burnish

Once again in the lush green lair

And thus the pouting pixies sit still

For an eternity on my windowsill

…

~ Akanksha Gupta ~