They were never alone,
those white wildflowers,
those gatherings of kans grass
forever leaning close,
forever trading secrets.
The riverside wildflowers
had traveled farther than anyone knew,
from wet banks to thirsty dunes,
from open plains to wounded hillsides
broken by the road builders.
Still, they huddled together,
their white blossoms brushing shoulders,
absorbed in the latest story.
Once, I heard them mention
Wordsworth’s dancing daffodils.
How they laughed.
They had little patience
for anything so celebrated,
anything foreign or rare.
They understood the beauty in ordinary things.
They simply raised their silvery heads
and let the sunlight find them,
making the king’s white stallion
and every perfectly coiffed Barbie doll
jealous of their wild, uncombed beauty.
They knew about hidden beauty,
about beauty in unexpected places,
and where nature and human life
quietly met.
With their broken prisms,
they caught your reflection
and folded it carefully
into their half-made rainbows.
They whispered about young brides
and the men who waited beside them.
They spoke of old women on doorsteps,
hungry for bread,
hungrier still for love.
Then the clouds descended,
carrying the scent of distant rain
and cooking up stories of nature,
including the one about you
hidden inside that unfinished rainbow.
The flowers nodded.
They giggled as if they had always known
how deep our human connection with nature ran,
then called their friends closer.
Together, they flirted with the wild wind,
winking and smiling without teeth
at you and all your pride.
You thought you had stopped
to admire them.
But they had already caught your image,
passed it through their broken prisms
and tucked it away
in a half-stunned sky.
An ardent believer in that a good poem isn’t one that comes from, but through you, Pravin enjoys writing short but meaningful poetry. Write to him at pravinkumar2788@gmail.com to know more about him.