Nympheas                                  

The lilies brood
darkening thoughts of what is past,
of what may never come,
dread rising silently
in stagnant roots.

The lilies weave
pink, purple, blue, flickers of
dreams, of wishes, of holding
bits of the sky in their bodies.

The lilies wilt
drooping lives, death the sentinel
standing close.

The lilies bloom
magic on paper, colours in the water,
impressions forming, growing, breaking
the canvas ablaze with a day, a season
and just for a moment
the lilies hold
eternity in their bodies.

(Based on the waterlilies series by Claude Monet)

Read more of my poems in the September 2018 issue of Setu.