…the old man who guards that grey-stone building collected a huge bunch of “Silent Assassins” for me. They were caught amidst their mission through the night…am hinting at long-stemmed tubular Night Queen flowers who serenade all mortals, the lonely streets, the relentlessly falling rain and drape everyone in their intoxicating veil in the morning…..these lovely things I come across are kind of rejuvenating pauses I indulge self with. Walk through the streets of life without them would certainly be a dissenting march. Can you sense a sweet disruption in the air?
It kisses your cheeks, bores through your flesh, with its breasts sodden with fragrance that becomes more intense as the dusk falls over pallid faces. It loosens its delirious robes to expose those stripped layers of its skin, roams through the backyards, wobbles like a drunkard at the door, rustles past the busy lanes slapping at the tired human faces. Something more than that, it crawls under the sweat-drenched eyelids, tickles the nipples under the clothes, pauses at the dark corners thick with the stench of urine. Watch it beating hard at the doorsteps of a cheap hotel, mocking the beggar on the pavements, whistling along with that bunch of youngsters. Indeed, shameless a figure that lives on everything it comes across, and leaves everything at its own pace. The delicate aromatic facade crackles with vengeance out of their slim waists trampled or broken with the wind. I am enamored by this swell, the pale dead bodies, the tubular long stemmed Night-Queen flowers perfuming the evening.
Google says these flowers belong to the Indian Cork Tree with the Botanical Name : Millingtonia Hortensis, with a mission to Transform I say they are my dear “Silent Assassins” who had me walk up the path to my car…sweet little things fallen all over, seducing me into their deep fragrance and beam at me, a midgety greedy creature who crams all her books and car with the fallen flowers…I turn back time and again to have a glimpse of those slender fragrant bodies, browned by muddy waters, trampled over by heartless feet! Humbled I say, I fall on my knee, I plead thee, how many fragrant bodies I can carry!
Those fallen flowers leave the chaotic inhuman world, but their persistent and stubborn fragrance stays on staining the lanes! What a prima ballerina like performance these flowers give, when they are falling down, twirling their slender waists many a time in the breeze.