Arriving at thy door*

Arriving at thy door
Is itself a walk to a bower,
Where you have made a garden
Of flowers , blooming, eternal,

Every season i find there blossoms,
Be it spring, summer, monsoon, autumn,
And I just there turn up somehow,
Guided by fragrance, only to bow,

Arriving at thy door,
Is itself a journey such
That i oft lose my self there
Catching the aromatic air,

Oft there i go,
If hurt i go there more
If happy i go there utmost,
There how i always get lost,

Arriving at thy door
Is with pleasure me gets filled,
Your picturesque Beauty,
Keep me there frozen, stilled,

Arriving at your gate
Is a wonderous pilgrimage
There I oft find me,
And Your Innocence, as mirrory image.

(*Note: the painting attached is done by An awesome Painter and artist Mar Chelle Piery, courtesy : Alex Artista, Musica Pittura e Dintorni.
The poem is just inspired by the painting, though it goes to another dimension,as can be made out, )

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