FUCHSIA CHILD

A Poem by SHEEMA HUQ

Trespassing child of seven, enters a mysterious neighbour’s front garden

equipped with besotted determination, she convolutedly aims to realise again,

her unique, personal, sensory interpretation of HEAVEN:-

Initially she notices the shoddy Victorian terraced patio, with chipped

dark flecks on the off-white facia wall, two to three undercoat shades

are exposed beneath the peeling, weather worn exterior door

She sees, also, a straggling, scallop edged, curtain net of dirty grey,

suspended mercilessly low from the bleak, unkempt bayonet window.

An ominous whiff of drainage descends, arousingly trounced, by the flimsy

magnolia trellised fence of 8 metre length, bearing the summery-sweet,

linger of honeysuckle scent.

One by one, she collects each fallen rose petal of peach-white,

avoiding the prickly thorns of heinous might, threatening a ripped

school skirt with bloodshed of vengeful spite.

At last she reaches with magnanimous composure, the concealed

fully flowered shrub of Fuchsias:

Ah Fuchsias of glowing green foliage and tall arched stems; that

contrast graciously with the delicate centres of tiny long, cerise tubular, clusters.

Encased by the bowl-shaped, main flowers of startling deep violet

petal-wafers, surrounded with boarders of penetrating vibrant magenta.

Ah Fuchsias, that provide tender escapism from her troubled

home situation; her parents’ sordid relationship problems;

their alternate bought of jealousy, fractious patterns of gravitating rivalry.

callus reactions, and scornful mockery, causing her tearful,

chaotic, confused melancholy.

She becomes immersed into playful fantasy as she visualises, shimmering

flame- ruby jewelled crowns worn by garden princesses,

ornate fairy wands used by pagan empresses, exotic celebratory lanterns,

dangling shadowy patterns, over daintily arranged, ladles of porcelain, filled

with Ribena and jubilee cherry drinks, at a festival of secret whims.

Ouch! shhh shhh…as she sways and twirls, her foot hits a loose

paving stone. She must escape and reduce her tone, before the unknown home

dweller, calls 999, mistaking her for a burglar, she hastily bids goodbye to the

fascinating flowers , too precious to pick, take home, and savour during

her finest hour.

© 2012 SHEEMA HUQ

Author's Note

print by Ann Bridges

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Edmund S. Obumba

hi!!
sorry I've been offline for a while..
Sheema,id only wish to someday have such a mastery of this beautiful art like you do.
you have this way with words that captivates the reading and keeps him/her glued to your work seething for more!
What else do I say?
ROYAL PIECE OF WORK!