The first…
How can I be but a single colour?
When throughout the lively mutable day
I move towards a wounded indigo
From the dawn’s pale-death shade of grey?
I burn to a bright, unabashed sky-blue
In the searing heat of a noon-yellow sun.
But if cool white clouds should deign to arrive
And cover me over just for some fun…
I may, I may, on such a fair, fine day
Spread out all my leaves, my hair, and my limbs,
Turn all the greens of my life inside-out
And commit that one, great cardinal sin:
Of bursting forth in a rainbow of hours
For I am a garden, I must have flowers.
The second…
And so am I, a woman and mother
I love all my children, whoever they are
Whether they stay or whether they leave
Whatever colour they say they are.
They’re black as the seeds in a sunflower’s heart
They’re pink as the roses that blush with dew
Yellow as dandelions, those cheeky weeds
So good for us all… only Nature knew.
Bluebells and irises, tulips, and asters
Rainbow colours and green grasses too
Flowers and weeds, whether children or trees
Whatever their colours whatever their hue.
They were born in my garden, and I know their worth
They are all my children, and I am Mother Earth.
About the Creator
Rohini Sunderam
Rohini Sunderam, a Canadian of Indian origin who calls both Halifax, NS and Bahrain, home, is a semi-retired advertising copywriter. Her stories and poems have appeared in several international anthologies and online magazines.
Comments
There are no comments for this story
Be the first to respond and start the conversation.