A Nocturne in White
(There are flowers that bloom for the crowd, and there are flowers that bloom for silence. The Brahma Kamal is of the latter kind. It waits not for sunlight but for stillness—opening its celestial white petals only when the world has turned its face away. Cradled on the edge of an unassuming cactus, it appears where beauty is least expected and vanishes before dawn can remember it.
Sacred, rare, and radiant, this flower has lived in myths and meditations alike—believed to bring blessings to the one who sees it bloom. Its presence is a visitation, not a display. And in that brief encounter, it leaves behind a strange knowing: that the most extraordinary things may come quietly, stay briefly, and still transform us forever.)
It does not wait for morning. It listens— to the hush between night’s breaths, and blooms on the edge of a fleshy leaf, as if dusk itself had dreamed its birth. The plant is plain, a cactus bowed in silence. But the flower— the flower is a marvel: larger than its host, as though divinity had taken root in the most unlooked-for place. A hundred white petals unfurl in sacred design— not chaos, only symmetry, and something deeper: like temple doors that open only for those who come without noise, without desire. No scent, no bees, no garish colour to proclaim its grace— only stillness. Only light upon light, folded in moonlit repose. They say it brings blessings— that to witness its bloom is to be seen by the gods: Lakshmi’s gaze, Brahma’s breath, a moment chosen without warning. It blooms but rarely. Once a year, perhaps, or not at all. And though it lingers for a night— sometimes two— it fades before the world can name it. And perhaps that is true. Perhaps the rarest things bloom only once in a while— not to be possessed, but to be remembered. Yet in its wake, something remains: a hush in the heart, a light where none had been, a knowing— that beauty may not last, but it lingers forever.
scribo ad LX 