By Nandita De nee Chatterjee
It's a sweltering summer
and the days are hot and long.
Cloudless skies provide little respite.
Birds fear to venture from the shade.
The glorious ball of fire beats down relentlessly.
Come brave my fire, as if to say.
Softly, ever so softly,
something stirs in the bush.
A murmur gentler than rustling leaves.
A tendril sways and an array of aureate petals
Face turned up it reveals its glory to the sun.
The splendour of the sunflower,
its petals delicately poised, smiling graciously at the challenge.
The day becomes flaxen
and the golden orb concedes,
the gentlest has the power,
the softest touch the strength
to match the mightiest.