Weeded Lotus MAG

September 2, 2010
By Anonymous

November heat strikes with botanic gift
Saffron aromas Bengali through warm air
Steam from the clash of different spices
Air cries
Gleaming pools of brown within the sockets
Scarlet bindi
Maroon henna
Clinks of jangling bangles above
Intricate saris rough faces
Clammy rickshaws
Waves of heat from the Indian sun sprint toward Earth
Tiny warm smiles
Quick pulse
Fast drumming heart

Fright reflects upon her gentle presence
The world throws a twist in the rules for game
Unable to stay her mother's daughter
No permanent branch on which to cling
Falling, falling
Life changes as warm to fiery colors rush past
A grip tightens to cushion her fall
An unknown grip
Dark fades to light
Unfamiliar arms gently rock the child
December strikes with cloud of frigid rain
Aromas of teriyaki and barbecue pirouette through chilled air
Dew scrapes the edges of tall grass spears
Buzzes of phones pump her eardrums
Her heart runs a marathon
Past the enormous emerald green Statue of Liberty
Across the George Washington Bridge
Into a home
Forever hers

Torn from her Indian lotus's moist roots
Planted in an unfamiliar American garden
Growing as a budding lotus in a new land
To become a tiny Gandhi, Einstein, Shakespeare
No one knew
No one could know whose shoes she would someday fill
Questions washing over her as high and mighty waves of the Indian Ocean crash against the shores of Bombay
No one knew
Family left fighting the tall yet frail weeds
With memories
Small chimes of giggling
Faintly filling the silent air in their garden


The author's comments:
M poem is an illustration mean to represent my travels as an orphan from India to America. Every day of my life, I wonder about the free beautiful country of India where I come from. I wanted to paint a picture of memories children or teens might have of places they may have come from. Even if they haven't been adopted, maybe they can relate to it if they've made a big move during their lifetime. It's meant to show how one small child can feel alone on this Earth, and suddenly grow and learn to be part of a new community or environment. I hope that each reader will finish this poem feeling like they themselves have made the long trip from a city in India to America.

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