When Azaleas Bloom: A Series of Poems by Nikhat Jonak
Poetry: ‘How petrified she is to see him bawling with bolted eyes. / A lullaby materializes in air; she thinks she missed the miracle.’
She holds a lollipop
Cerulean, ankle-length skirt blurs her in,
A souvenir her sister sent, and the postman delivered.
She is 16, the letter on her lap; preserved petals of azalea,
Inherited when she bled; womanhood.
“And when they hold your hands in the bazaar,
Be grateful for they chaperoned you.
And when they ablaze your hands in hellfire
Be grateful for they chose you.”
The murky sky splats her crimson trichion,
She gapes at the horizon, her unbothered dress melts in dew,
Tacitly he enjoins a cup of tea, the new moon sky in her backdrop.
*
Death Parade
She walks, the drapery slipping her cleavage,
The scenery turns inky, dark spots weaving large voids,
And she searches for his eyes, to dissolve, to weep,
For an abode to engulf her in refuge.
His eyes barren, deliquescing in the crowd,
Staring at her stripped chest; sickened.
The crimson in her hair dishevelled, cheeks damp,
He walks away; tramples the azaleas in his path,
And her bronze skin bedazzles in the sun.
*
She meets Joshua
The nine-months played as a short movie; constant protruded belly,
Now he in her arms, yawping at the avant-garde scenes,
Her hands; shaking, contemplating the boy she just met,
How miniscule his fingers appear in her hands,
How petrified she is to see him bawling with bolted eyes.
A lullaby materializes in air; she thinks she missed the miracle.
But he gazes placidly, eyes mirroring her damp face,
And she knows the azaleas have bloomed again,
The one her sister planted in the backyard,
When she embodied a woman.
*
Halley’s comet
The morning breeze nibbles her nose, cracking the bus window,
Swirls of her ebony tresses bash on her shrivelled face,
Hullabaloo wakes her up from yesterday’s dream; clock strikes seven.
She studies the kid in front: white shirt rugged in navy blues,
And somehow she’s here, the corridors of fresh blooms, thriving with life,
How she stood tall and battled her way out of the cocoon,
The azaleas gleamed in the balcony; she scribbled on the blackboard.
*
Joshua meets a girl
She beholds him as he levitates towards a tapestry,
A tapestry embracing the airy crimson roses,
And the azaleas in her hand kisses the earth adagio,
As he leaves her patio, a wistful smile lights up his face,
He glances her for the last time,
Professes that the roses are ethereal.
*
She marks me
The night of the waltz I saw her; last supper,
Enigmatic she stood with tresses entangled in azaleas,
My starry eyes studied every curve her body performed,
Placidly she strode towards me; her silhouette blood-red,
Her eyes fixed on Joshua; he snugged me off her sight,
She whispered spells, the world I never knew of,
“Oh, my little one, your nose is crooked like your mother.”
And all I recollected how detested I am.
*
When Joshua sails away
Of age I haven’t come, yet I waved him off at shore,
Sea-shells ablaze on a Sunday in July as he blurs out in the scenery,
I await him until next July, The azaleas anew in the garden,
And for many years to come he remains a traveller,
One day he knocks my door; a familiar stranger,
He stops by the kitchen and reaches out for the teacups.
*
She dyes her hair ebony
She runs her fingers through the remaining hair,
Once they used to dangle in the rich earth soils,
Now they are silver, reflecting the bangles she puts on,
And every day after breakfast she asks Joshua for her son,
She no longer remembers the disdain towards me,
I bring the withering azaleas to her; her face glistens,
And Joshua helps her to untangle her hair.
***
Nikhat Jonak is currently a student of Physics honours at Cotton University, Guwahati Assam. She tends to write about self-love, on societal expectations, loneliness and topics that resonates with her. She currently resides at her Guwahati flat with her family. You can find her on Instagram: @junaki_porua.
