It was a night of heavy rains.
Water engulfed the land. Winds drowned
the stillness in turbulence. In a corner stood
an Ashoka, majestic, ever sorrow less. No one saw
it flower, but they used its leaves, strung to accentuate
the auspiciousness in temples, and home entrance.
It must have shivered through the night;
reminiscing many rough seasons. The roots
gripping, struggling to hold till the very last moment.
The place is cleaned up now.
There are no remnants. No blood,
no splintered spillover on pavement.
People didn’t crowd over the dead;
there was no talk of an accident.
Only, if they had left some of its curled edge leaves.
They would have remained fresh for many days
to make a statement.
By Uma Asopa
Copyright © Dr. Uma Asopa 2006