My pathway along the flower bazaar
is hiding its face in utter shame
under the carpet of discarded
faded yesterday’s flowers rising
a stinking aroma as the sun rises up.
They have no salvation and no way
of reaching ever the mother earth
to sustain life eternal, the destiny
denied by the high profile culture
in this flourishing metropolis.
Dirty soil is buried under the tar
layer – no way for a drop of water
to reach thirsty streams below –
as the sun comes up oozes vapour
in the golden city ruled by high culture.
Beside the flower-bazaar lays flesh-bazaar
flourishing spreading its infectious cult
on the high ways and in by-lanes
to other bazaars of hedonic tastes.
A plucked flower here is eye’s pleasure.
Flowers and flesh are graded and priced
from expensive orchid to cheap minor ones
according to affordability in fairness.
Calling the call-girls as sex workers
to honour the labour, the socially awakened
class absolves itself of cultural taboos
and makes way for them to the altar
of progressive newfangled civilisation.
Flowers are offered here to the idols –
the gods or leaders – among the moderns.
The orthodox tribes offer in worship
flowers with grasses ? gains ? leaves ? fruits;
their women who adorn vermilion and
the maidens aspiring for marriage wear
flowers on the heads, celebrate fertility.
Flower is sex, sexual communion in nature
love and romance, fertility and abundance
for all living beings, a healer,
a selfless sacrifice in unison in nature.
(Flower Bazaar at Dadar, Mumbai is a landmark place. Though officially it is shifted to a new place about half a kilometre away, the place is still being used as a flower bazaar by hundreds of vendors who make their living sustainable. Read more in a following post.)
© Remigius de Souza, all rights reserved.