I began that poem again.
You know the one – where the flowers bloomed
Among the grass, and your small feet
Tripped dancing through the
Like the touch of a fairy on the grass
Now here, now gone.
Kissing the grass, fondling the flowers
Your dancing feet in the sunlight
That was the poem
The poem that is never done.
And I, stumbling after
Heavy-booted, crushing down
The flowers, being too clumsy
To let them be.
Petals broken and strewn in the grass
Marking where I passed.
My boots were not part of the poem, though.
I did not want to hurt the flowers.
It was not my fault
That I could not dance.
Copyright B Purkayastha 2015