Bougainvillea 17.4.20
Bright Bougainvilla blooms
Outside our window glass
Vividly hued plumes
Green leaves a stark contrast.
Simple flowers,
run of the mill
So common, you'll miss them.
By the roadside, on the hill.
Don't need watering
Thrive in the heat and dust
Fronds like banners waving.
Amidst the smoke from the trucks.
Our local village ladies
In jewel coloured saris
Tints bedazzling
Draped practically, mesmerising.
Reminiscent of
The roadside bougainvillea
Festive blooms
Purple and magenta.
No frills and furbelows
Neither needs much to survive
Women with long hours of drudgery
Keeping home and hearth alive
Silently eking out their living
Gathering and selling firewood
Working in the farms
Cooking and serving food.
The less we say of the men the better
Perhaps it’s a cultural thing
Entitlement seems a way of life
Change impossible to bring.
There are also sweet peas in my garden
Delicately hued, wonderfully fragranced.
Need a trellis to grow.
dainty and elegant.
Many times I wonder
If I'm the sweet pea here
(Though I don't look or smell as nice)
My needs and wants merge and blur.
My morning walks for sanity
Their's to earn their bread
Mine with my faithful Buddy
Theirs for their families to be fed.
We are dressed in bright colours
Active apparel and saris
Cutting across language and culture
Separated by a chasm, it seems
Both the bougainvillea and sweet peas
Echo the words of our Lord
'Not even King Solomon in all his finery
Was as richly clothed'
He was teaching us not to worry
About what we eat or we wear
But live our lives trusting
And On Him cast our care.
So He cares for these ladies
Laboring all day
They're not unknown to Him
He knows their names.
And when they pass by
Loads heavy on their heads
We exchange smiles
And I whisper a prayer.
Lisa Choudhrie
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