White granules of crushed salt,
distilled from rash waves of saline ocean,
mixed in adequate amount of clear water,
filled to the brim in large beer mugs,
along with with crushed pulp of lemon, tinge of ginger,
is my definition of taste.
{1}
fine threads of variegated saffron,
adhering to shiny interiors of stainless steel,
filled with curry of white starched curd,
with fine sprinkle of pungent mustard powder,
beaten to jelly with wooden battens,
producing clouds of strong aroma,
is my definition of smell.
{2}
brilliant red petals of fragrant rose,
germinating in tandem from thick center buds,
springing from thorny, slender green beanstalk,
deriving nutrition fertile soil,
with a sheath of transparent dew drops,
is my definition of colour.
{3}
heaps of crisp currency notes,
stacked in invincible iron safe,
punched in a cluster by pins of soft metal,
increasing in size by the passing day,
with exquisite statues of pure gold,
is my definition of comfort.
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