Dream Beneath the Jasmine Tree

Right there...Can't you see it?

Dream Beneath the Jasmine Tree   

 

There.

On the grass.

                     The little girl said, pointing enthusiastically at it.

Where

On the grass?

                    The little boy asked, peering into the shade of a jasmine tree.

Right beside that woman’s sandal.

It’s fluttering in the wind

Like a silver petal.

                She told him again, this time being more specific.

                He squinted his eyes,

                Walked up to the woman’s sandal, and still saw nothing but emerald grasses

                (which, in themselves, was a sort of spectacle given the tall, browning blades everywhere else in the meadow)

I don’t see anything.

                The girl gathered the ends of her summer dress

                (white folds of cloth sprayed gold-and-green with watercolor sunflowers)

                And rushed to her friend’s side

                (she was quite worried for his health--the thing she indicated was a rather obvious sight)

Right there. 

Caught beneath this woman’s sandal.

Can’t you see it?

                The woman

                (who the two children had presumed asleep;

                The wide, floppy brim of her gardening hat casting shadows over the clouds in her eyes)

                Stirred at the rustling of trodden grass

                And the light chiming of adolescent voices tickled by the wind.

Look now!

You’ve awoken her!

                The boy whispered harshly, tugging on the girl’s wrist.

                The woman ignored his panic,

                Turning her cloud-patterned eyes

                And knowing, sunlight-smile to the girl.

Don’t bother showing that feather to him, dear,

He won’t be able to see it (as I’m sure you’ve deduced).

                The girl cocked her head with curiosity

                While the boy left the shade of the jasmine tree and sat on his bike,

                Waiting for her.

Why not, miss?

                The girl voiced, eying the silver feather inquisitively.

It is not his.

                The woman answered with a gentle smile

Then whose is it?

Mine?

                The girl wondered aloud, sitting down beside the sandal and its feather

                (this panicked her friend all the more, mind you)

In a distant way

I suppose it is.

Watch.

                The woman stood,

                                More silver feathers fell from the cone of her dress,

           Each feather dotted with scarlet;

                           red jasmine petals on shimmering, silver armour.

Are they yours, miss?

                The girl questioned in awe,

                Reaching down to touch a few of them.

A tad more than they are yours, dear.

                The girl thought for a moment.

                What was this woman?

                What else had feathers?

Are you a bird?

                The woman laughed,

                A melodious warble that seemed to harmonize with the very essence of emotion and        purity.

I suppose I am a sort of bird.

                The girl’s eyes lit up.

A song bird?

                Delighted, the woman patted the girls head.

I sing, yes,

But I am more a…

Courier.

                Quizzicality swam in the child’s pupils

                (irritation in the other’s)

How do you

Deliver your messages?

                The woman stepped back from the little girl,

                                Brought her eyes heavenwards,

           And spread her wing:

                           Many tiny jasmine petals splattered the girl

                           Along with many tiny feathers.

[cough]

                Red jasmine petals blossomed from the aliferous woman’s mouth.

What’s wrong?

I…cannot fly…

Why not?

I have found you…and now I have lost a wing.

Why?  Is it my fault?

No, no…I have chosen to be your watcher,

           So my body shed a wing to keep itself here

                                On land

                                With you,

my dear daughter…

We have to go!

You’re upsetting the lady!

                The little boy shouted from across the road,

                Beginning to mount his bike.

I’m coming!

                The little girl called back,

                Alighting a soft kiss on the woman’s hand

                Before crossing the road.

Why are you just standing there?

                The boy questioned,

                Watching his companion stare at the empty spot beneath the jasmine tree.

I can’t see her anymore…

                She whispered sadly,

                                Riding home,

           A silver feather caught in the spokes of her back wheel.

 

Author's Note

This is a poem I wrote for my Mother's birthday, please feel free to critique--I'm curious as to how other people will interpret this. : )

Reviews

[Priyanka Natesh]

I can't help reading and re reading this piece every time I chance upon it in my favourites. :)

[Writer #00]

Glad to hear that, I didn't know my writing was re-readable : )

[Sami Khalil]

A very interesting poem...Thank you for sharing...:)................

[Writer #00]

You're welcome, thank you for reviewing : )

[Sami Khalil]

You are welcome.....................

[Writer #00]

Is there a reason for your many ellipses after your comments? They don't bother me, but I was just curious... : )

[Sami Khalil]

Not really. JUst a habit...:)...................

[Priyanka Natesh]

I knew it was about a mother even before reading your note!
It's one of the Best works I have read in this genre of soulful dedications.

This poem brings to my mind a sad thought somewhere entwined in the length of the verse. Of a mother as a divine being, probably distanced from her children on an earthly level...the little angelic girl and the boy who has too much of a practical mind to acknowledge the mother's love...

The aesthetics reflected in this work is sublime. It is moving and refreshing to read.
Thank you so very much :')

[Writer #00]

You're welcome, ha ha, and thank you so much for sharing your interpretation of the poem and your thoughts/compliments and, yes, I intended for the two children to be viewed as more than just literally contrasting in terms of their genders, I'm glad you caught that. Thank you for reading : ) !

[Debbie_Philly]

This is a very stunning story.... took my breath away... even a little tear to my eye.... how amazing... the angel for the little girl... her guardian... who was her mother... I hope I got that right... that's what I got out of it... love the ending with the feather in the spoke.... truly an amazing write !! :)

[Writer #00]

Thank you so much for reading and sharing your opinion, I'm glad it could, err, take away your breath and bring a tear to your eye. There are a lot of ways one could view the poem, but, yes, the angel was the little girl's mother. Thank you again!

[Tai Ryens]

The ghost of a girl whom misses her daughter... Touching, in a sweetly dark way.. What really gave it away was the mother 'shedding a feather' to which I assume means partaking in the sacrifice of eternity dwelling within whatever lies beyond in order to stay in the earthly realm, 'tis makes me squeal with delight!
If not for the author's note, I would have assumed the lady was a giver of color; which explains why the boy couldn't distinguish the odd shape in the grass, while noticing the different shades of the bladed meadow. Whether the boy was unable, or the ghost unwilling to provide color, we'd never know lest the ghost outright admits to the denial or not. If so, I would proclaim a metaphor in which the ghost chooses whom she wants; a marvelous example of destiny choosing you, and nobody else. Quite lovely, as always; and I do apologize for being somewhat late to lay my eyes on such a beauty. Well done, well done!

[Writer #00]

Hey, Tai~ Interesting interprtation, as always. I find myself viewing my poems differently after you share your thoughts, which is good. Multiple perspectives on one thing is always good, to me. So, thank you for adding perspectives and expanding this piece. I actually meant the ghost to come across specifically as a one-winged angel, but it doesn't really matter how you refer to her. : ) Thanks again.

Also: I've been working on a little story, so I haven't really been reading other peoples' works too often, either, so your timing is fine : )

[Rhianne Ney]

:D A very playful poem for a daily dosage of poetry. This is visually written and imaginative at the same time. Unique and somewhat playful but all in all I enjoyed the poem.

[Writer #00]

Thanks! I wanted it to be more playful than my other poems since the main character is a child...and I realized that most of my poems aren't very light-hearted. Thank you for reading and sharing your opinion, it's nice to know you got the intended aura of the poem : ).

[Rhianne Ney]

Yes, but some might interpret it the different way. We don't hold the reader's imagination after all

[Writer #00]

Yep. That's a nice way to put it, and o so true.

[Rhianne Ney]

Yeah (: Your poem made my day, just to let you know

[Writer #00]

Aww, I feel so accomplished. Thanks much, it's nice when my writing can have that affect on someone.

[Rhianne Ney]

Yes, that's really nice. That just means that you achieved something great

[Writer #00]

Woah, there's a 10 character limit, I just discovered, because it wouldn't let me post:

: )

[Rhianne Ney]

Yeah, mine too. It just means that the cafe is strict on reply terms

[Writer #00]

emoticon
: (

[Rhianne Ney]

Yeah, that's right