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
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
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
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.