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Heartworms in my garden!
There are certain flowers, that never fall or turn frail,
those heartworms in my garden
of recollection, one that owns
upto its nickname of Eden, a place
that is neither Paradise nor pandemonium, but a part of me that is entirely my own, for me to have and to hold!
One of the saddest things, I've had to do there is to sweep away the petals fallen along the road to rebirth, their life plucked out untimely, a sigh escapes me, as regret takes hold of me for not doing more and I curse time out loud, the double edged sword; sometimes too quick to sever the shoots but slowly healing the wounded roots, often braided together, in that garden mine!
But then I hear my dearest speak about how happy she felt upon seeing the plants in her garden blossom and bear fruit, it made her feel like she was part of something, like life was happening right infront of her eyes, in all its glory, almost as if it was a reel playing too fast, never pausing, but always fascinating to see, like the first time!
Her words were a breath of fresh air
that turned memories like rusted leaves of autumn into green ones that sprout fresh at the height of spring, when the butterflies swarm around all the pretty flowers, like gentlemen callers waiting on their beau, eager for a touch or a kiss as sweet as nectar!
It is said that smells are the most potent revivers, they give life to days lived, and one finely scented bloom enraptured all my other senses, as everything turned a vivid shade of white momentarily and I was transported back to one glorious morning, back when I used to be eager to wake up and feel the sun's light soaking into me,I was with my kin, swerving with the wind !
My dress was in alabaster, almost a painting, that was to hang on my tiny frame, it depicted a small garden, full with flowers and leaves,drawn on
so realistically that you could almost touch and feel their skin against your fingers, It was as if I had buried myself in a bed of blooms, except they had embraced me, for I was...
those heartworms in my garden
of recollection, one that owns
upto its nickname of Eden, a place
that is neither Paradise nor pandemonium, but a part of me that is entirely my own, for me to have and to hold!
One of the saddest things, I've had to do there is to sweep away the petals fallen along the road to rebirth, their life plucked out untimely, a sigh escapes me, as regret takes hold of me for not doing more and I curse time out loud, the double edged sword; sometimes too quick to sever the shoots but slowly healing the wounded roots, often braided together, in that garden mine!
But then I hear my dearest speak about how happy she felt upon seeing the plants in her garden blossom and bear fruit, it made her feel like she was part of something, like life was happening right infront of her eyes, in all its glory, almost as if it was a reel playing too fast, never pausing, but always fascinating to see, like the first time!
Her words were a breath of fresh air
that turned memories like rusted leaves of autumn into green ones that sprout fresh at the height of spring, when the butterflies swarm around all the pretty flowers, like gentlemen callers waiting on their beau, eager for a touch or a kiss as sweet as nectar!
It is said that smells are the most potent revivers, they give life to days lived, and one finely scented bloom enraptured all my other senses, as everything turned a vivid shade of white momentarily and I was transported back to one glorious morning, back when I used to be eager to wake up and feel the sun's light soaking into me,I was with my kin, swerving with the wind !
My dress was in alabaster, almost a painting, that was to hang on my tiny frame, it depicted a small garden, full with flowers and leaves,drawn on
so realistically that you could almost touch and feel their skin against your fingers, It was as if I had buried myself in a bed of blooms, except they had embraced me, for I was...
