Four debdaru trees with their drooping leaves,
Some rambling portulaca;
The juin that clutching air climbs upstairs, as does the madhabi;
Below, a pebbled path cuts through the garden—
On the left in a row, beli, lily, rangan,
White jawbaa flower in profusion.
With all these in my small garden I sit on the grass—
like a customary statue.
With a dish of Koi with choi on my mind
I’ve planted the betel look-alike,
Brought home the choicest bulbs from the nursery.
I am afraid. That a squall will jab at them one day.
And yet we need a storm, we need rain, to stay alive,
Come a cyclone, I shall hold tight in my safe embrace—
My trees, my family.
Illustrated by Sanchari Mukherjee.