She carried a little bouquet 
Of golden-hearted nargis*
Her face flushed, her eyes bright
She was going to make a gift of them
To someone special.
The bus stop was empty
Save the woman with the flowers
And me. I had my phone in my hand
She sat on the bench waiting
Clutching her bouquet
I stood nearby, holding my phone
Watching her secretly
Trying not to spook her
But she was mesmerizing 
In the tender enchantment 
That surrounded her

The bus was late
She sat there almost motionlessly, quietly 
But the thrum of her joyful energy
Was taken up by the gay bouquet
As it danced gently in the breeze
She wore yellow shalwar kameez*
With little white flowers 
Or were they stars?
They were tiny, almost imperceptible 
So small I was sure even she wouldn’t know
But they shimmered in her gaiety
She smiled as she adjusted the stems
The flowers bobbed back happily
She sat there like a painting 
Full of joy and anticipation 

The bus rolled in
Carrying its load of passengers 
I lingered a while to see
The recipient of this picture of love 
That waited brightly on the seat 
Together we watched people alight
People go left and right
Until the last passenger stepped down
I climbed on, slowly, hesitantly
I sat down near a window and looked out
The bouquet now lay inertly on the bench
Its sunny heart wrenched 
Where it had been clenched
In the ardent embrace of a pair of hands 
Drenching it in the liquid warmth of love

They were stars, not flowers
On her kameez, five-pronged tridents
Piercing, lancing, shattering
The perfection of beautiful things 
Hidden, Unbeknownst to her 
The fault, I was sure, lay in the stars.

* Nargis: Daffodil

* Shalwar kameez: the long shirt and trousers worn by women in Pakistan and India