Remembering the Rose – By Niranjan Selvadurai
On the edge of an old stool, slightly askew,
A forgotten vase settled beneath dust’s hue,
Still cradling memories of what Mother chose—
Waiting in silence for that single rose.
Each morn, Mother placed that vase with care
Upon our dining table, always there—
A dainty vessel with a single rose,
Fresh from the garden, the one she chose.
Those childhood days of laughter in the sun—
The vase remembers, though the years have run.
Sunday lunches: yellow rice, chicken curry,
Warm fish buns vanished in our childish hurry.
The laughter faded the day Mother left;
The vase, once cherished, loved, and kept,
Stood empty—silent, forgotten as well.
The single rose soon withered, petals fell.
I cleansed the old flower vase with care,
Filled it with water cool and fair,
Returned it to the table there
And placed within it one rose rare.
I opened the window; the darkness fled,
And light returned to where her footsteps led.
Twenty years today since Mother’s leaving —
The vase remembers, and so do I — still believing.
- Niranjan Selvadurai
