by Keshab Sigdel
At the courtyard
blossomed are the flowers—
in pink, red, and yellows.
The woman wakes up,
and each morning,
stretches her eyes till the road ends of her sight
in the hope that her husband
who disappeared some ten years ago
She waited till she could;
but her husband never returned.
The last drop in her eyes rolled
There was only one more thing she could do—
recollect the memories of the days bygone!
She remembered her husband
And gazed at the flowers he planted
before he left his house in enforcement.
And, in the blooming flowers at the courtyard
She found the vigour for a continued wait.
Sometimes she would fear
when the flowers fell in their prime
by the struck of their wind;
But the new buds that appeared
in all their beauty and fragrance
reinforced in her the verve
to renew her wait.
After a long cohabitation
she felt a chilling discomfort with the flowers.
In them, she saw the shadow of malice;
And when the flowers swayed along the tune
of the gentle eastern breeze,
she feared it a death-dance.
An epitome of nilakantha,
flowers gulped the incrimination
and honoured the silence.
Without the knowledge of the woman
flowers continued to offer homage
to the dead body of the woman’s husband
buried at the courtyard
of his own house.
Last updated January 30, 2013