Emeraldsight

By Varun Anjarlekar

These blossoms that their windowsill abode delight,

Bloom as white, chaste, untainted and naive,

Each bathing in the warmth of that brilliant orb's light,

That in surveillance of its realm, it their fates begin to weave.

For blossoms do not remain blossoms, nor their skyward liege his promises keep,

For hues that art not unchanging, these inflorescent creatures seep,

As their maker upon the fortunate with gilded rays, gilded shadows sweep,

That dyes them roseolar, as they their sanguineous tears weep.

Nothing begets nothing, so too it is with these,

That in their growing season provide their makers with growing unease,

That harvested crop make it to its reaping day to outshine its fellows then,

It only follows that to do so it must outlast its own brethren.

And yet it is with caprice that their growth is so wilfully affected,

A curse that was lain upon them for iniquity in their due place,

That they may by their radiant nourisher be so duly inspected,

But for the follies of such frivolous matters of their unhallowed maker as taste

And so do their cursing eyes upon their brethren fall,

Issuing such precipitation that adopts rubescent aspect,

That does replace with reddish, passionate hue, their snow white pall,

As their more well lit brethren remain unsullied, without defect.

Such is the curse of emeraldsight,

That turns with no mercy kith against kin,

With cursed hues, these cursed wishers delight,

At seeing their unduly served brethren done in.

The blooms are now at the fullness of their prime,

And to serve their function, are awaiting their due,

Peppering the flowerboxes they are here and there,

Though differing in only one primary hue.

'Tis their maker's prerogative to abstract,

The nature of what has come to pass,

That upon their petals such hues extract,

And what dues be meted out to those that last.

A long white blossom stands tall among them,

While surrounded with a concordances of crimson and scarlet hue,

Watchers and wishers, these reddened bouquets, all of them,

To see their untainted kin bear the brunt of their cursing too.

Perhaps such flowers will finally bring me success,

A rare portrait of the nature of man's nature,

And yet it is their maker that will these tainted bless,

As he does prune the white and tallest of stature,

And then having seen their justice done they recline,

These blossoms cursed with emeraldsight of their kin,

With final subsistence they their corollary drapes decline,

And fall to an unsightly end after unsightly win.

By Varun Anjarlekar