A flower on the burning pyre

 

It’s fiery hot,

The sunrays  burn, singe and angry lot,

Almost like a vast open oven,

Everything and everyone

getting slowly baked with fiery greed,

I know we need

this heating to survive and grow,

Futile isn’t the sweat on thy brow,

This heat sows the seeds for

cool, greeny prospects in times to come.

The trees tested and shorn of leaves,

Their spirit grieves,

But they have to pass this test

for luxuriant growth and rest

during the monsoon rains,

Forgotten when will be all pains.

Tired birds, panting beaks

among sandy airy shrieks,

They have to keep the song going,

Keep the birdie boat rowing

for the sake of rainy days,

when there will be a joyful maze

of nests, hatchlings and love,

A brush with luxuriant canopy’s shove.

The land parched, cracked, rusted,

All spirits lying dusted,

With open wounds and cracks the land praying,

A piteous cattle braying,

Everything praying with full receptivity and faith,

Lying open like a vast open bowl

for the sky’s grace to fall

in the form of raindrops as blessings,

Having so submissively lain

waiting for the first rain

and dance among the fragrance of the soil,

Forgotten will be all burning toil,

The wind that burns the eyes now

will turn a soothing whisk gyrating

for cool shove

on frayed tempers and stressed brow.

I just have to wait

and not give into frustration’s bait,

while even the iron railing seems to melt,

and brace up my fortitude’s belt.

There is a miracle,--

A little flower in my small garden,

Singed with fire

but still smiling on the burning pyre,

While the burning sunrays

feel capable of burning

even the paint and plaster on the wall,

The sunburnt flower avoids beauty’s total fall,

A little bit of icing on the cake of miracle,

A butterfly on the sunburnt flower,

Carrying the colors of defiance

and survival against all odds,

A little chit of flying colors,

diving, fluttering among the

air on fire,

That’s enough for me,

This little miracle in this furnace,

All is well

as long as you have a little flower

and a butterfly

carrying the seed, the baton, the prospect

of cool, luxuriance, rains and loving breeze

liberate which will everything from fire’s seize.