Perfection is my Demise
Embedded in the loam and the insect scum of a pond, I emerge on the surface without a scar to be seen. However dirty my surroundings, I bring a smile to the faces of those who pass by my murky oasis.
Floating on the waterline alongside lily pads, fish, and the warm light, I begin to sink to the bottom where the filth can be found. Beneath the tadpoles growing. Beneath the layer where the sun cannot be seen. Beneath the plastic bottles that litter my home. My shell begins to break and my roots start to grow thick and deep in the forgotten and mistreated grounds of the world.
Over the course of two years, my roots will grow to the size of a turnip and my stem will swim long and far to embrace the sun’s warmth. Although scrawny and small, my stems hold the power to create my long-awaited bud and the lotus leaves that give my flower the perfect background.
As I resurface to the top of the water, my circular leaves lay behind my premature bud, building a canvas waiting to be painted by my elegant petals. Within days I will be worshiped by all who pass by. Slowly my petals start to drape over my stem like a dress. As I blossom, the vibrant color makes my environment pale in comparison to my beauty. I, the only bright color in this pond of green and gray, give off only the sweetest and most delightful scent, outperforming my competitors in this domain.
Art by Shreya Srihari
In the daytime, I dance with the wind and boast my admirable qualities. There is no need for me to plead with the bees, who come rushing to me amongst all the flowers in the swamp. By dusk, my petals close, allowing me tranquility and rejuvenating me for another day’s worth of busy work.
I am an unconquerable fort that could never be beaten.
But on the last day, I feel my strength deplete as I attempt to close my petals in the moonlight. I witness one of my leaves wilting, marked by a scar to be seen from a frog nibbing at it earlier in the day.
And when my impenetrable shields begin to dabble behind me in the water, I will shed a tear in the morning dew because what you see is my perfection and beauty, not my resilience or the turbulence faced below my prized head. For what I have slaved for in the past two years, has been reduced to a mere five days of glory.
My five days of glory to bask in the light of day.
But do not fear! Your days of taking pleasure from my murky waters do not end as I leave behind a trail of my seeds. My seeds, who will once again be kept hostage in such a revolting environment and somehow emerge to the surface without a scratch.
