Bharti Bansal

The ceramic violet coloured pot 

Gives home to two sunflowers 

The sunflowers which choose to bloom every single day Even after I forget to water them

Their petals, a shade of Van Gogh’s optimism  Their sepals, emerald green 

And the brown mud 

Still scream louder than I can hear 

That good things don’t come to those who wait But who grab and snatch. 

My poems are too revealing  

That maa sometimes ask me to cover them 

With a shear cloth of happy endings 

Or else people will see through 

And leer at the miseries of a home well-hidden But not these sunflowers  

They speak aloud 

Droop elegantly 

Die when not loved enough 

And bloom again 

Isn’t it funny 

That these shy flowers know their place in the world  Know their skin 

Inside out 

While I struggle to take as much space as my body demands.

These sunflowers persevere  

Even on the days sun doesn’t shine 

Or shall I say glare? 

These budding youthful flowers 

Can claim their home 

Like parasites 

While I have been struggling

To find a glass vase 

That can house me in 

And still doesn’t break 

From being too small 

For someone who knows that  

Tenderness is a matter of staying still 

Even when homes are set on fire.