Aunty Rukmini hated orchids
Flowers sans scent, like desires sans profit.
Useless weeds these orchids and desires
‘So let your orchids thrive on paper,’ she said
‘But none in my garden’
Rukmini lived her life like that
With her un-aromatic desires
on paper, not on soil, stunted to a margin.
She taught me to do the same
With desires, dreams and orchids.
‘Plant marigolds, instead,’ she said
‘They hold our rituals tight in prayer rooms’
‘Or grow the hibiscus, if you wish’
‘Crush its leaves to a pulp
and if those marigold prayers work
they might help your short locks
grow to an ideal length.’
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