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Mamta Agarwal (March 27,1951 / India)
! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! I aspire to be a flower! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! !
Eagerly at dawn set out for brisk walk.
For cheerful angels await me in park.
A nip in breeze after last night’s showers.
Sneeze; unfold my sleeves, to brace for the hour.
Purple flowers are spread on muddy path.
We exchange greetings and smile as I pass.
I avoid puddles, careful, watch my step.
Do they feel pangs of separation from stem?
Passers by ask as I kneel to pick some.
“What do you do with them”? “Float in an urn;
Its hues light up my day and living room.
Each time I pass by and glance, we commune”.
In their silence hear message of Divine.
Frank, open, kind, calm, by no means fragile.
See, what is without is what is within.
Flowers simply teach art of self giving.
A close look at flower clock or calendar,
Rose, iris, Crocus, Lily or Lavender-
Trees, vines, shrubs, flower beds or grass,
You’ll sure find one when serene and calm.
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Comments about this poem (! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! I aspire to be a flower! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! by Mamta Agarwal )