Marigolds
A garden of marigolds….orange, yellow and rust,
Bright, soft and rich, touched with golden dust.
Quiet and regal, sun kissed and fair,
Basil -citrus fragrance that mellows the moist air.
A thousand smiling marigolds, a thousand smiling suns,
Sweet nectar, ambrosia, for natures gentle ones.

Woven into garlands, yellow with tips of red,
Woven into memories with many a words unsaid.

Love’s hopes of an Indian  bride, clad with marigold,
With dreams wrought ‘n promises, her heart dearly holds.
Tearful farewells to soldiers, who traverse through destiny’s doors.
A garland weaved with love for  those, from across the seven shores.
And when the body is but a thought, as life grays and  olds
Wrapped in a hearse of love, their love, with weeping marigolds.
An offering so humble, yet flowers a Goddess  wears,
Auguring celebrations, with a soul’s heartfelt  prayers.
Orange, yellow, rust..to love, to pray, to mourn,
Golden, sun kissed, blessed.. marigolds that life adorns.

Nishu Mathur, India