Hibiscus Ceremony

I pass by the abundant hibiscus bushes 

On my way to the train station almost everyday;

In the evening, they tilt towards the abandoned lighthouse.

In the morning, they stretch to the limit of the skies. 

These red, yellow and white bundles of radiance 

take over a corner in my mental space: 

willful occupation of beauty, if you may. 

Until that day, armed with intention and scissors 

I pluck these monads of brilliance-

momentarily dimmed in a paper bag,

I get home, wash them carefully-

Like a baptism ceremony of some sort,

And with care bordering fear, I place

Their petals on the cutting board

Wooden; and the metal knife cuts the body into unequal parts

And this sound invokes a flood of memories in me-

Cutting mlokhye on a Friday morning with my mom

Shaken out of reverie I scatter them 

On the baking paper, above the black tray

and put them on the small balcony

so they bask under the sun. 

I cover them with a net to protect their fragility

That soon enough gives itself to the wind

As I watch them everyday, losing their vigor

only to restore a hidden life of their own.