With its golden yellow hue, it welcomed the visitors.

Strung in a thread, while it adorned the frame of the door,

‘Aripan’ made at the entrance on Diwali with the rice paste,

Filled with the richness of its abundant petals, looked so much more


Holding the most coveted place in the basket of flowers,

Plucked for pooja, as the gods seemed to love its humbleness.

Never needing much to grow except tad bit sunshine.

It flourished in the backyard as it did in the wilderness.


It didn’t mind being used by the children for fun and frolic,

It revelled in their joy even when its petals crumpled in their hands.

Being in the tall glass vase or to be that flower to express love,

It never longed for either, for it mattered not- as the fact stands.


Marigold it might have been in its unassuming and yet free-spirited way

But I felt you in these words instead, in my heart and mind,

O mother! I no longer know if it was the marigold or you, I thought of,

Or perhaps both- as the warmth and character were so entwined.


Copyright © Aradhana Mishra.

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