She’s a vine of antique labels
ascending floral texts,
in fecund hierarchy of scented petals,
evergreen in an ideal of genus,
Hers, a Mogra spirit, born to a full moon
calendared in life’s vernacular.
Time steadily depletes her
to a crescent of a sickle in hand,
terraced to the paddies of life
where she harvests today
into yesterday’s memories.
Tomorrow may rain in promise
or light the sun for a blitz to bloom
as she charms time to a halcyon lore
of moons ahead to moons ago
that faded pink on leafy twine.
The heavens are a lofty poem
in starry nomenclature, yet,
on nights fragrant in dewy blossom
she is shy and new as she melts
into the innards of the earth,
to arise at dawn, gold as grain
and bake like a miracle on the hearth.
The faces of womanhood
The prompt from the Insta community I follow, was about writing a poem to the theme above for the 8th of March, accompanied by a black and white photo.
The theme made me question myself more than wax eloquent like the moon.
I realized, it never occurred to me to name a favourite flower that personified my spirit. Rain drops on a fragrant Mogra or Jasminum sambac (the Arabian Jasmine), that grew in my native land and scented my childhood, wafted through memory and made me cry a poem.
Do follow me at @davinaesolomon on Instagram for poetry. I post there before I post here sometimes and on other themes as well.
I’m sharing this as a countdown to March 8th and hope to create a few woman centric poems. Feeling inspired 🙂