(I saw a grumbling gardener collecting the fallen flowers of a jacaranda tree, shed so generously, and still resplendent even while decaying. He muttered endlessly as he cleared the litter.
This poem whispers Jacaranda’s agony, amidst the decay and the trampling —an ephemeral beauty misunderstood by the world. Scorned as litter, her vibrant offerings are swept away without a second thought. Yet, beneath her sorrow lies an enlightened truth: the purpose of her fleeting existence is not in being preserved, but in the joy, wonder, and romance she bestows upon all who pause to notice. With a heart unshaken by the indifference of others, she yearns to bloom again—not for glory or recognition, but for the sheer fulfilment of being a source of beauty and delight. This is her exaltation, her sublime calling: to live and wither, only to live again, for others’ joy.)
Scattered, broken, upon the earth I lie,
Trampled by hurried feet that pass me by.
Once radiant, vivid, a canvas of delight,
Now fading, decaying, retreating from sight.
I recall the lovers, young and free,
Gathered beneath my flowering tree.
Handfuls of petals, their joy they’d shower,
As passion bloomed in my tender bower.
Kisses and whispers, hearts intertwined,
Under my shade, their love defined.
Romance soared in my lilac hue,
A fleeting world, serene and true.
Yet, the gardener grumbles, his broom in hand,
Sweeping my beauty, calling it bland.
“Litter,” he mutters, with disdainful glare—
Does beauty's end deserve such despair?
And though my heart aches in this fleeting plight,
I ponder my purpose in the fading light.
To bloom again, as a Jacaranda’s grace,
Painting joy on each beholder’s face.
For even brief moments, radiant and rare,
To bring the world joy is a gift to declare.
So ephemeral my life, yet I yearn to be
A flower of love, for all to see.
scribo ad LX 