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Poem

Passing by the wet market,
seeing flowers—
decided to buy some, 
to brighten the day,
one of those inside-gloomy-days

The sun was beating down,
and even the roses were scorched
but the lady selling them had a smile,
since she knew that she was going to get a sale.

The roses or those big mums?
(I cannot remember what she called them exactly—started with an A)
With the hot weather, I can imagine those roses
lasting only a day
So the big mums it is.
I ask for some aster, and she adds them to the flowers….

I looked at those mums—white and yellow,
yes, they sort of looked like big spiders
They looked pale, sort of like me.
So I asked the lady to please
add those smaller, lavender mums
for some splash of color…

I really like it sometimes
when people just suddenly start talking 
when they do something—
it reveals that passion they have for it.

I asked her name—
Rose.
How fitting indeed.

The lady selling flowers is named Rose.
I will now remember.

She seemed happy she made a sale,
too happy she gave me the wrong change…
so I returned the extra money with a smile
I got a smile for my change.

Feeling lighter as I walked on,
even with the bright afternoon sun bearing down on me…

And then—

Dryness,
just feeling so dry within,
it almost felt like the flowers that I held
were withering in stop motion
 (just like some things in my life),
I had to stop myself from checking
whether they had turned brown already,
all because of me…
I felt so sapped.

The struggle to lift myself up continues…

Ah, Miss Rose,
I shall buy flowers from you again,
if only to get 312 seconds of lightness.

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