A Posy of Death

Why did they give me flowers as a present?

With no offence to anyone’s sentiments.

Beautiful pink roses and there smooth feather touch. Well matched with lemon yellow daisies and a couple of bright asiatic lilies. Simply put the bunch was gorgeous!!


Each flower had its own sweet smell, special character and ultimate beauty to capture my heart and captivate my soul. The bouquet was presented to me with all the love and warmth.

But I felt ashamed to hold the bouquet in my hands and celebrate happy felicitations. ‘Cause they were just a cluster of dead living things!!’

Moreover they were made lifeless for me and I was celebrating!!

The aroma of fresh flowers fills my senses but not at the cost of their lives. Their beauty attracts me but when they are not plucked from their roots and are well attached to the mother plant.

Flowers are my favourite living things. I love the way they dance with the gust of wind. Reminds me of few old lines ‘no one has seen the wind, neither you nor I but when the trees bend you the wind is passing by.’

The wind and the flora; they are eternal dance partners and I enjoy watching them dance. They sway to and forth when they dance in co-ordination.

But when one partner outshines the other it’s the Tandav Nritya and it causes destruction. The evidence of wrath shows up in their gloomy dull look, the scattered petals and broken branches all over the place.

However bad the storm, it eventually passes and there is life and growth again. I collect all the petals to make a pot-pouri. It indeed adds a difference to my living room.

I adore watching the flowers when it rains. Their drooping petals loaded with water like a little baby drenched in rain awaits its mother to cuddle its hair with a warm towel. The ambience is simply adorable.

Soon the sun is out, the water evaporates and there is merry all around. The atmosphere is gay and fragrance prevails.

How could you kill these tender, adorable flowers and present them with love to someone?

It’s been a week and half have already died. It causes immense agony to throw them in the bin. I tried to keep them blooming but their slow death is inevitable. I can’t stop it. The helplessness is killing.

Once upon a time they were dazzling beauties and now they stare at me in silence, shouting; ‘Aastha, you are the cause of our death.’ The atmosphere is sad. I want them to live, I want them to bloom. They don’t want false promises, I have been there friend for years and today I am caught in an act of treason.

I don’t want to be a part of this slaughter ever again. Please forgive me my friends.