Just like you: A poem by Supriya Bansal


My mother planted jasmine, just when I breezed in ‘n came into being  
She patted the soil around its roots, similar to how she assured my well-being  
 
She tended, staking trellis for it to climb on, wrapping it around as it grew, 
Just the way she propped ‘n poised me, bracing me to bloom into view 
 
The mulch ‘n manure of love, hope, dreams ‘n faith was heaped on both, 
Moistened with drops of patience, she pruned the stray stems of rage ‘n loathe  
 
The balmy, ambrosial fragrance bewitched ‘n beckoned bothersome pests 
She softly deposed, dragged down such unsought, superfluous requests 
 
Sometimes life bogged me down ‘n I forgot to fare ‘n bloom, just like the jasmine 
Mother tempered us, her serene, still watch, made me ‘n jasmine, eternally sanguine  
 
I burgeoned ‘n blossomed, akin to jasmine, 
tasseled out in full swing 
Loaded with florets of skill, spirit ‘n passion, pouring love from my very being 
 
The jasmine sifted ‘n scoured many shores, morphing into whatnots 
Bursting forth or withering old, its pneuma, the aroma was never lost 
 
I too yearn to be like my mother’s favored climber, acclimate yet amour- propre  
Sated ’n spirited inside whilst sprinkling smidgens of joyous fragrance all around!! 
 
Glossary—  
amour propre—a sense of one's own worth; self-respect 



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