A WHITE FLOWER
A white flower,
just one,
and white, nameless,
spreading its wings with a sweet insouciance,
from a beloved teacher who was fond of using improbable words
for improbable realities,
and I fondly inherited,
and perpetuated
her impossible dreams.
She who taught me to dream of Buddhist art in caves and on hills,
and graciously allowed my thoughts to wander.
At times she and I were the only souls in the class weaving a tapestry discovered in a different time zone.
She is living in me still; do you not see? Yes hiding demurely
behind this defiantly white
and flamboyant winged flower, impishly smiling
as was her habit,
teasing me and saying,
"I am here, my dear!
when did I ever
go away from you?".
Sushama Karnik.
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