The Flower Seller

I watch her gnarled hands

deftly string together

jasmines

fragrant, milky white jasmines

its scent wafting across

enchanting passers-by

a small assortment of flowers

jasmines, marigold, champa

lotus, hibiscus and basil leaves

add colour to her basket

she’s been at it

from as long as I remember

at the same spot

outside the temple

her betel-stained lips shooting

a jet of red

accurately into

an old tin she keeps

out of view

time has changed nothing

everything remains as it was

the same expression

the same posture

the same movements

the same colourful flowers

fresh

red, yellow, pink and white

the same heady scents

yet

the fragrance

and colours

shy away from her life

leaving it

colourless

odourless

stale

This entry was posted in Poetry on by .

About Elizabeth Kuriakose

A hectic career as a banker and looking after family kept me busy for ages. Quit my job to look after family. Once the children were old enough to take care of themselves, I discovered my love for writing in late 2014. Words in poetry or prose have been my constant companion thence on.

4 thoughts on “The Flower Seller

  1. VijayNair

    A flawless portrait of an elderly flower seller leads to the uncovering of the ultimate irony.This excellent poem is a good example of ”unification of sensibility.”

    Reply
  2. louiskasatkin

    I loved the precision and economy of words as they so adroitly rendered such an incisive and all too vivid portrait of the subject.

    Reply
  3. Maaya Dev

    This poem revived the memory of an old lady sitting near a temple selling flowers. Aptly captured the scene and made it more live with your brilliant poetic skill. Enjoyed it Elizabeth.

    Reply

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