When someone seems eccentric,
the locals whisper,
‘It’s time to wear a hibiscus flower in the ear.’
But these enticing blooms aren’t loony
like the modern weather.
They keep their faces and serenity intact
until they fall.
They’re always in nature,
and men away:
that makes the difference.
Only human hands crush them
for hair oil, shampoo, shoe polish...
Their breasts are open for butterflies.
Sunbirds are tempted,
who kiss the petals reddened by nature’s love.
Their twittering among twigs is a language,
though unintelligible as Rotokas.
Sweet undecipherable emotions.
* Rotokas is a rare language spoken by about 4,320 people on the island of Bougainville.
First published in The Literary Hatchet.
Dear Poeter, The poem brings many realities before the eye with delicate red hibiscus flowers. The work of every god on this earth is as aesthetically pleasing as the ocean of poetry in the form of waves that store raindrops. It was interesting that the last lines of this poem compared the silent realities hidden within the incomprehensible wonder to the name of a rare language. Write More Congratulations