Red earth and pouring rain
She was born into.
Disquiet of the fiery clay.
Rays peeked into her violet plumes,
She woke up, reaching to the warmth.
Her kin, like a carpet, they spread,
O’er the hills.
Her destiny, she was told, was to partake in the journey of love.
Her bloom, still young, waved merrily in the air,
Waiting for their fulfilment.
Her birth was the beginning.
Theirs was an extraordinary love.
Her violet was fiery, his dampness held her.
The first strains of a silver song began.
She was the silent witness.
They danced around the vivid mountains,
oblivious to their tiny companion.
As love awashed her, she had her catharsis.
The brushstroke was a faint yellow; now.
But her seed was black.
The dampness cracked, plunging her shades to paleness.
The silence of the song...deafening.
“But I love you,” she screamed in desperation.
“It is not enough.”
The finality in his tone berated her.
He stopped in his tracks, turned to her retreating, withering figure.
Stopped as if to drop a word. Kindness, perhaps.
The tiny plumes now swayed violently, her destiny at stake.
He strode over where she was planted instead.
She waited longingly for his palms, to soothe.
Unseeing now, she wept for the retreating lover.
She did not feel the first caress of his feet
or rushing death as he stomped her.
Posthumously, autumn took the uprooted flower in his refuge.
“Little Kurinji”, he whispered.
Note: Neela kurinji or Strobilanthes kunthiana is a violet flower that blooms once in 12 yrs in the Western Ghats. These flowers live through the spring season and are believed to be a symbol of maturity and love.