White Flowers

Woke up and saw those same white flowers ,

Left on my study table

Walking down to the table like a drunkard ,

I saw a piece of paper below the flowers, 

It read, 

"I love you",

In broken letters of the handwriting that a toddler must have.

Our gardener's son left those flowers there, 

Everyday before I woke up, 

Knowing my love for them. 

I taught him to write and read,

But receiving a message as such from him was uncomfortable. 

I was angry in the beginning, 

Knowing that our gardener's son left a message as such, 

Frowning at myself, 

I realized I was behaving like a hypocrite, 

My poems said, 

'Love has no boundaries "

But my heart was yet to accept it. 

Someone knocked the door, 

Opening it I saw Biltu standing there, 

With that sparkle on his face, 

And joy in his voice, 

He said, 

"It's a great morning today, 

Come downstairs, 

The garden looks grandeur today, 

With all the variety of white flowers,

And their aroma spread all over the field."

He held my right hand, 

And ran downstairs to the garden. 

It was disturbing to hold his hands and run downstairs like that, 

But then I allowed myself to it, 

I probably don't know why. 

We went there, 

Our regular garden was looking prepossessing that day, 

With white flowers all over it, 

And the aroma that drove me mad, 

They swirled and kissed each other, 

They were falling on each other, 

Hugged and comforted each other. 

A man was crying, 

In our home, 

I heard a male voice crying, 

We went there, 

I saw Biltu's father sitting near my grandfather's feet, 

He was crying his lungs out, 

And stated that Biltu passed away last night. 

The flowers were there on my table, 

The paper was there, 

The garden was pretty, 

The aroma was maddening, 

I could still feel the roughness of his hand in mine, 

He was there, 

Somewhere, 

I felt his presence, 

But couldn't see him, 

On one was there beside me anymore. 

My blood ran cold, 

I was left still, 

Amidst the crowd, 

That moved and cried, 

I was standing still. 

A gust of wind blew, 

His presence was no more felt, 

He was gone, 

Gone for ever. 

Are you too afraid? 

But why? 

The soul that loves never dies..... 

- Anonymous, 13.11.2020