Flower-head

I know you read like gulmohars
Like little gulmohars as they fall from the sky
You comprehend in reds, yellows and oranges
What perhaps are only white jasmines
Or only black roses 

No one congratulated your sprightliness 

They are in fact wearied by it

They know you will burn too much

And too fast 

Oh

But oh

You will leave such a fragrance

Of intermingled red, yellow and orange

Jasmines and roses

When they come to your funeral 

They will hide their involuntary sniffing

In sighing and nodding 

When they will sit in the rows of chairs

They will all be antsy lines 

Of black and white

-

Chandni Girija 

Day 22 of 30 | 30 Poems in 30 Days | National Poetry Writing Month #napowrimo