Scent of lime, embalmed in areca,
Folded like a kiss, wrapped in love.
Crimson stains caress her graceful lips—
An etiquette, a tradition, a poignant flame.
Like a silent vow of saffron's breath,
In the heart of the night,
Rich in the fragrance of cloves,
Blended with the essence of rosewater.
A leaf carved from the fallacy of sky,
Revealing itself slowly and eventually,
Like an anonymity in clear disguise.
Steeped in the spice of sweetness,
Her tongue seeking through paradise.
The secret language of hospitality;
Mixed with the elixir of grace,
The subtle, surreal part of aristocracy,
Concealed in the fine threads of delicacy.
The crested jewel of passion's delight,
Flavours of satinwood dripping in wine.
Honeyed sap of lost desires,
Layered with intoxicating verdant elegance.
A simple gesture of yearning,
Honoring the lingering untold elements,
A spark bound in pages of history,
Forever enchanted and engraved.
Silver scales rest upon her paandaan,
Symbolising the tedious journey,
Through beauty and pride.
Nested elegantly upon her lap,
Like an armor on the newlywed bride.
The pause before the taste,
The magic before the bite—
The Begum Gulbadin,
Keeper of the ceremonial rites.