I look at the leaves Serrated edges, little flowers And I wonder About its identity The shrub growing under the amalthas* tree You would know You always knew As we walked in the street Outside the house You could name every flower And every tree Every creeper Even the sickness That gripped some of the leaves
You looked at these Concerned, everything else forgotten The fact that your own body Was racked with disease That ever-present pall softened By the enormity of your being Your own pain erased And at that time, in that moment I too forgot The wheelchair that you were in That you were ill; that we were grief stricken I dived right in, feeling, seeing You weaving magic around everyday things Flowers and trees grew chimerical wings
The swaying kachnar* The beskirted Ashokas* Bobbing profusions Of jasmine and phlox Fragrant bunches Of nargis* and freesias You pointed them out with happy ease And worried when any of these Were less than their perfect selves And I too smiled and looked In wonder At how joyfully you revelled in it all Holding infinity in your lit up face Offering up so much love and grace
And for those moments I too forgot The pain and the grief It was you and me Sadness free While you took me on ethereal trips Where nature in all her fullness Unfurled - beautiful, calming, brave We were carried away on a gentle wave The pitted leaves Still vital and green Were the only things we needed to save
La de da de da, sang the Arum As she rustled her giant leaves It was her seventh birthday today And she was oh so very pleased!
She was feeling especially grand today As she nestled her very first bud She was going to flower any day A thing of beauty rising from the mud.
That night when the moon was high in the sky In the lush rainforest of Sumatra The Titan Arum sat in prideful state As her bud blossomed into flower
She giggled and shook her big big leaves Sending out waves of her special pong Her smell reminds some of smelly cheese Others of socks that have been worn too long!
The rotting smell is a sweet bouquet For dung beetles and flesh flies They settle onto the new bloom Inhaling her smells with happy sighs
The magnificent flower stays facing the sun A splash of burgundy red colour Its frilly edges rippling in the wind - An upturned bell on the forest floor.
Three days and nights the Arum flower blooms And then collapses onto the ground Its short life was one big adventure Of funky smells and insect sounds!
Seven years on, there will be a new bud For forty years this cycle will repeat But in between the hulking plant returns To its quiet life on its hillside steep.
Mahvash Mohtadullah 