The Garden That Lives On

The old house from my memories opens to a wide porch adorned by mom with her loving touch.Herbs,flowers swayed to caressing breeze Lilies in pink, roses in blue and bougainvilleas that blushed in lilac hues. Green tulsi shrubs tended with care. Ah! leaves that flavored our tea. They were laced by a fence with a sweet aroma from tendrils curling bluebells intertwined in mesh. The fragrant jasmine, she sang to them and put one in her wavy hair. Spring bloomed them to full moon. Monsoons brought a divine petrichor that made us breathe the heavenly aroma of her love. She taught me to care for them under the Mahogany tree that enveloped them from raging heat. She worshipped her nursery like her own kids. Every evening, dad used to share his stories watching the rosy blush. On moonlit nights, we stargazed lying on the grassy bed and listened to old songs on radio. I had built a corner of three bricks to keep my favorite books to bloom and read them on lazy noon with cuckoo's songs breathing intermingled scents. When we left that house, the garden lived for someone else. My mom had wished they would care for it like she did. I packed my old books to move on. Now years later, far from mom, when I miss my garden of bliss, I unpack those books that still release scents of roses and jasmine drenched and dancing, releasing soothing petrichor. For a love so deep shall bless me now in my kitchen garden, confined to few flowers. That love still blooms with those books as I inhale the fragrance of those foregone days. Like I carry my mother's essence in everything I am, the divine garden of that heaven from my memories and the eternal fragrance of mother gleaming, lives on. ~ To the garden where I wrote my first poem