Pizzazz of Marigold

Gone are those days, when the courtyard of my house housed the marigold plants grown in bunches. And when they bloomed, the xanthic and orange hues used to steal the attention of every kid passing by. I love those flowers and the pizzazz of them. And all those vadamallis, I couldn’t get enough of them, growing beside the fence teasing me with their hue that I found myself relating to someone, my first love. That particular color can do magic to me which makes it special apart from being a not-so-loved-flower. All these do remind me of nature’s purity (a term that had the drastic fate of being called endangered.)

Human beings often boasted that they have the potential to dominate the planet. Hitherto they have succeeded in proving their point. Amidst the chaos of their battles to rule the earth, they missed a very important part, that they are killing our earth, they are terribly erring the planet for their selfish greed. The encroachments of men over nature had left nothing but the ceremony, nail-its-coffin. Better we engage ourselves with the prayers to save our planet (God is the only way out) and we can exclude that future guilt-of-not-doing-anything on the day of mourning.

I am sitting in my room all alone staring at my laptop screen, mentally playing a beautiful melody. My heartbeat rises. It’s there in my heart, a vadamalli blooms, it then pricks, it then stays, bleeding my heart, draining my blood, stealing my soul.

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