The Eternal Bougainvillea

Not all fair blossoms seek the praise of spring,

Nor every flower is born to fade unseen;

There blooms a vine whose frail, translucent wings

Outlive the dust where countless feet have been.

The bougainvillea, clothed in light and dream,

Ascends forgotten walls like Hope made fair,

Till ruined stones become a sacred theme,

And silence gathers incense in the air.

Its delicate leaves, though softer than a sigh,

Hold in their fragile palms eternity.

The royal purple and imperial flame

Flow down old terraces like evening's prayer;

Each blossom seems to breathe a secret name

The wistful wind has cherished everywhere.

They are the echoes of a deathless kiss,

Still lingering where parted lovers stood;

The crimson soul of longing fashioned this—

A bloom distilled from memory's deepest blood.

Beneath their shade I find your unseen hand,

As though our hearts obey one lost command.

Then orange burns with twilight's gentle fire,

While peach unfolds the blush of dawning skies;

No earthly flame could feed such pure desire,

For Heaven itself seems mirrored in their dyes.

Each branch becomes a bridge no years divide,

Where soul to soul, like rivers, softly run;

There every dream walks quietly beside

The golden footsteps of the setting sun.

The world dissolves; only our spirits stay,

Like birds that cannot learn the art of day.

Then comes the ivory bloom, with hints of gold,

Serene as prayers that greet the waking morn;

Its tranquil light enfolds the faint and old,

Where hope, long thought forgotten, is reborn.

It does not cry for wonder or acclaim,

But heals the heart with silence sweet and deep;

It writes your image in Love's deathless flame,

Where neither time nor grief has leave to creep.

There every petal is a sacred vow,

And every breath becomes forever now.

O wondrous vine, whose beauty none can bind,

Thou art no child of seasons soon withdrawn;

Thou bloomest first within the faithful mind,

Thou crownest earth with heaven every dawn.

Thou teachest that true love can never cease,

Though years should scatter all we once have known;

For Beauty is the everlasting peace

The Infinite has planted in the soul alone.

And when my heart, like evening, longs for home,

I seek thy blossoms climbing toward the blue,

For in their radiant hush I hear Love's voice,

And every flower becomes a path to You.

©®Madhumita