Metamorphosis

A meadow full of yellow buttercup flowers in full bloom

Photo by Tim Mossholder

I like yellow flowers.

I realize how much has changed;
How the stars appear brighter.
I am wary of the light sometimes.

I remember its deceptiveness.

I catch myself smiling
with a lightness and innocence,
Untouched.
Daydreaming.

As though I did not emerge
gasping for breath
only to submerge again.
And again. And again.

I chide the part of me that smiles,
child-like. I remind her
of happiness that is hard earned;
I tell her to not spend it all at once.

To save some
For nights that are darker
For mornings that are colder
For roads when she finds — I find myself alone.

I tell her to wrap up her smiles
In cotton wool,
To ration out her joy in bits and pieces
A little here and there, wisely.

She laughs loudly — audaciously.
And it sounds like cowbells
On a warm afternoon in the meadow.

She blows bubbles in the bath
And makes smileys on the fogged mirror.
I stand besides her
Trying to protect her from herself.

Someone has to maintain the archives of memories.

But her happiness is absolute
She wants no part of the carefulness.
I hesitate a little, and indulge
Into a smile like sunshine sometimes.
I still like yellow flowers.

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4 thoughts on “Metamorphosis

  1. I was so happy to see this mail in my inbox! Its been a while since u have posted something! Keep writing:)

    Vaibhavi!

    On Sat, 27 Jan 2018 at 12:00 AM, The Writer’s Nest wrote:

    > Akshita posted: ” I like yellow flowers. I realize how much has changed; > How the stars appear brighter. I am wary of the light sometimes. I remember > its deceptiveness. I catch myself smiling with a lightness and innocence, > Untouched. Daydreaming. As though I did not ” >

    Liked by 1 person

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