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