The Flower Seller

I watch her gnarled hands

deftly string together


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


red, yellow, pink and white

the same heady scents


the fragrance

and colours

shy away from her life

leaving it




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.”

Leave a Reply