They drink water and carefully chew earth
Soaking in that rich photons
They are sun-tanned
Yet they grow no dark
But beautifully do they age
And withers without a tinge of fear
Blossoming every spring
They are Azaleas so stunning
White, purple,
Sometimes amalgamtion of different colours Sometimes her scarlet blush
Attracting not only human eyes
But winged angels from far and wide.
I still have that old photograph
Me and my mother beside
That new mother happily
bursting with pink azaleas
It was last winter,
Grandpa had to cut it short
I still remember that expression
Of discomfort and regret
“Don’t be disheartened baba
They will grow again”, I said.
But his reply gave me a shock
,“They knew I would cut them.
It gives me much pain to inflict the same upon the plant I planted and nursed.”
“But they will grow next year”, he consoled himself.
Weeks haven’t past
My mom sick and in pain,
Tortured me more…
Yes, there is a strong connection
Between a mother and her child
It was then I realised
My grandpa though a Father figure
Had already become a Mother
To the plant life he was giving birth
With every passing year,
Trees,plants,orchids and so on…
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