The Gardener
by and published in Edition Eight of Pomegranate
My grandfather planted in season:
Rows and rows of beans, a chilli plant,
Sweet jasmine shrubs, faux-fern borders
With the lemoniest leaves and ruby berries.
In the corner of his garden, his ‘plot’
He buried each grandchild as a seed,
To grow into trees – limes, chickoos, a
Glorious jackfruit and five mangoes for
Each of his second son’s daughters.
A gardenia bloomed that, I told him,
Would be me, his favourite,
Though my sister said it was her.
Our fight resolved when he planted another,
And he buried his nose in its creamy white flowers,
Inhaled, just as he would when he embraced us –
Nose in our necks, the deep intake of breath.
Now at twenty eight I see his garden, his ‘plot’ of life.
Smaller than I remembered it, the fruit trees gone,
There’s only a mango that still bears ripe,
Juicy, bird-beaked fruit in hottest May.
Where beans grew on long mounds of soil,
There are only dung and ash heaps for the coconut palms –
Dark grey rings that bring back ghosts
Of dead trees, exiled grandchildren and
Grandfather, asleep in the cemetery of the mosque
Where he used to call the faithful to prayer.
How empty it all is, I tell my grandmother, who is
Clad in white, sentry of his plot now.
Her watery eyes look out and see –
A dusty and changed world, a dry and changed plot.
Saudha Kasim
Saudha Kasim is a 28 year old graphic designer and content writer based in Bangalore, India.