7 years passed, mother planted bougainvillea on the middle of our yard,
It grew and grew, like it wanted to touch the heavens,
Ended up Hugging the balcony,
As it wanted to say something,
Deep magenta or blushing pink
Maybe the paper flowers were stained with a loving ink.
Every day it stood with a majestic appearance compared to none,
Even when the clouds cried their hearts out.
Destined to abide by all the rules
It had walls that are spiky thorns.
But a single wind made it crawling to the ground,
So scared it didn’t peek from shrouds,
For a while Thorny branches grew,
Flowers looking like ripped off pages from an unfinished story book,
Fell circling all around.
Butterflies gathered mourning for bougainvillea.
But it didn’t dare to look.
The yard looked barren,
I felt, why the hustle?
Everything comes to an end.
Should I kiss a last goodbye,
Reminiscing all the good memories?
Why grow so weak when there is so much yet to come?
If wind is the only thing that made you weak,
Why not love it more?
Bougainvillea bloomed again and with its brightest colour glimmering in the sun,
So I am waiting on the balcony, for you to return,
As you promised,
Until it’s last flower turns grey.