I sped past this
lush green hedge,
lining the concrete jogging track
on both sides.
Sometimes, I’d notice
a stray blue bell sort of thing
clinging to the hedge.
I’d always throw a fleeing glance
and move on,
taking it for a mere weed.
But this morning,
I suddenly halted, turned back,
swiched my mobile camera on
and took a couple of shots.
The blue blossom posed merrily.
Back home, when I
visited the picture gallery
for the day’s clicks,
I was in for a big surprise.
There on the screen was smiling
a lovely flower, wonder-eyed,
as if asking innocently,
‘So? How do I look? Am I not beautiful?
Can weeds be not beautiful?’
For a moment, I had no words,
then I found myself uttering,
‘No-no, you’re awesome … lovely indeed!
No less charming than any cultivated, elite flower!’
‘You know why,’ I continued,
‘An offspring, however commonplace
even ugly, is to its mother,
the dearest, most beautiful child in the world,
So you are O Blue Wonder,
the cynosure of your Mother Nature’s eyes!’
Did I sound apologetic?