Language of Lotuses

I went out on a walk

To sit next to lotuses

And see all they have to tell me

About this hurricane

In my violent sea that I inhabit.

I went out on a promenade

In a place 

Where I can talk to you with ease,

Oh dear father.

I went out to be with lotuses

To hear what you will utter to me

In their language.

Birds chirping

Their songs

Weaving a magical tapestry

With yellow-barked acacia.

This kind of music is a comet

And this time

It is devouring any other music

From the distant noisy tarmac road,

From the web,

From aircraft

And from the raging sea I inhabit.

I sat next to this magic

That binds me to you

My father

So that you lend me

A fully open ear

And whisper something back to me

In the sign language

Through which lotuses talk to us.

The still carpet of water

Was imbued

With round lotus leaves

Some superposed on each other

A display akin to that of a stadium

With well-watered lush green grass

And the surrounding

Uneven ring of earth

Akin to that of a ruined ancient stadium.

Indigo-violet flowers

Mushrooming all over

Like upset soccer fans

Who’ve taken over the playground

Brimming with amazing energy

Rising above everything

Like a giraffe

Towering above acacia trees

In a tropical savanna

Unapologetic

With unrelenting vigor

Mindless of the filth underneath.

I sat close to these lotuses

And then my soul

Mused something to me:

Get off your shoes!

The cold breeze

At the end of summer solstice

Entering me

Through my sensitive feet

And cooling my nerves

Like a massage guru.

While I sat close to these lotuses

A mighty gush of wind

Swept at their forest edge.

I saw a lotus flower

That bowed respectfully

To allow the wind to pass.

And when the gale had passed

I saw it stand up again

Like the towering giraffe it once were.

My dear father

I want to be that lotus flower.

A wave of sleep.

Should I slumber a bit

And feel a breeze blanket over me?

A cocktail of NO and YES voices.

But certainly YES.

Since I’m bare-foot

I will bring my shoes

Close to my bosom

Like a lover.

And then they will tap me

When a hyena or a serpent

Comes for its meal.

My dear father

You talked to me

In the language of lotuses

And reminded me

That I can keep shining

Like Sirius

In my moonless sky.

In the language of lotuses

You told me

To always bow respectfully

To prevailing gushes of wind

In the stormy sea that I inhabit.

My dear father

Today in the language of lotuses

You told me to rise beautifully

Above the filth

Beneath my carpet of water.

You reminded me today

Of the way your Ma’am

Used to be a scorpion

That stung from both sides

And yet I’m here

Beseeching you

With memories

Of being a once ignorant boy

Who was once bribed

To son that useless man

Whom your Ma’am once hooked us to.

My dear father

You reminded me

Through lotuses

How you learnt to dance

To the drama

In your violent sea

With raging storms

Yet remained unfettered

And unscathed–

You were never shattered.

My dear father

This is not a poem

But a conversation

Between you

And your able son.

My dear father

I always remember you

In my creeds.

My dear father

You are not dead

As they call you

Because you remain undying

To my soul.

My dear father

We will converse again

When we meet

In the forest of lotuses.

© Sea-Crab Poetry.

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