In times of extreme emotion, I have always found that it is easier to write poetry instead of prose. This week got off to a tough start, as we got the news that two men living in two different countries, both in the prime of life, passed away very suddenly and unexpectedly, both unmitigated tragedies, no matter which way you look at it. One died on Mount Everest, the other by the side of the Expressway that runs between my home town and Mumbai... Both friends of friends and relatives, both leaving behind young families, one does not have to know them personally to feel almost first hand how ruthless life can be...Also today it has been six years since Westgate Mall was attacked by terrorists leaving behind so many devastated families... Does one really ever recover from tragedy? And then yesterday we got the horrible news that our neighbour's gentle, sweet, kind old dog needs to be put to sleep. Since our bungalow shares a common compound, it feels like we are losing a family member yet again this year...
When The Jacaranda Is In Bloom...
When the jacaranda is in bloom,
At times, to me, it spells a lot of gloom.
Six years ago today when lavender blossoms adorned Nairobi like a bride,
Evil terrorists ensured scores of people at Westgate died.
Roads carpeted with Jacaranda blooms were awash with blood,
Of anger, fury, grief and tears there was a flood...
Last Sunday when Jacaranda blossoms were just peeking from behind the leaves,
And there was a hint of mauve on all the trees,
A dear friend's fellow mountaineer met his end on Everest,
Today he comes home to be laid to eternal rest.
He leaves behind a little daughter and a pregnant wife,
Between Man and Mountain, man lost the strife...
That same Sunday night when Jacaranda blooms had gone to bed,
In my hometown, a brilliant spine surgeon, after a freak accident, was declared dead.
Gone are those dextrous fingers, gone is that skilled hand,
That once a scalpel so deftly and adroitly manned.
Never again home to his wife and daughters will he rush,
All because of a horribly driven private bus.
In my own back yard from where the Jacaranda is seen in a purple haze,
My neighbour's gentle old dog lies in a cancerous daze.
In a handful of hours she will be put to eternal sleep,
Is there any wonder then that the Jacaranda makes me weep?
But then, every morning, down my lane, what do I see?
It is, as if, the Jacaranda has laid down a lavender carpet just for me.
I square my shoulders and lift my chin,
Just being around to see Jacaranda blooms feels like a win.
No matter what has happened in the years that have passed,
Every September, the Jacaranda gives our eyes a fabulous repast.
And it's up to us to drink in Nature's wonderful sight,
For, who knows, against Man, when these trees will lose their fight...
When The Jacaranda Is In Bloom...
When the jacaranda is in bloom,
At times, to me, it spells a lot of gloom.
Six years ago today when lavender blossoms adorned Nairobi like a bride,
Evil terrorists ensured scores of people at Westgate died.
Roads carpeted with Jacaranda blooms were awash with blood,
Of anger, fury, grief and tears there was a flood...
Last Sunday when Jacaranda blossoms were just peeking from behind the leaves,
And there was a hint of mauve on all the trees,
A dear friend's fellow mountaineer met his end on Everest,
Today he comes home to be laid to eternal rest.
He leaves behind a little daughter and a pregnant wife,
Between Man and Mountain, man lost the strife...
That same Sunday night when Jacaranda blooms had gone to bed,
In my hometown, a brilliant spine surgeon, after a freak accident, was declared dead.
Gone are those dextrous fingers, gone is that skilled hand,
That once a scalpel so deftly and adroitly manned.
Never again home to his wife and daughters will he rush,
All because of a horribly driven private bus.
In my own back yard from where the Jacaranda is seen in a purple haze,
My neighbour's gentle old dog lies in a cancerous daze.
In a handful of hours she will be put to eternal sleep,
Is there any wonder then that the Jacaranda makes me weep?
But then, every morning, down my lane, what do I see?
It is, as if, the Jacaranda has laid down a lavender carpet just for me.
I square my shoulders and lift my chin,
Just being around to see Jacaranda blooms feels like a win.
No matter what has happened in the years that have passed,
Every September, the Jacaranda gives our eyes a fabulous repast.
And it's up to us to drink in Nature's wonderful sight,
For, who knows, against Man, when these trees will lose their fight...
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