Ishaisms, Magical Realism, prosaic-poetry

1,11

I remember standing in the rain
that night

it poured and lashed thick on the rose bushes I had planted two summers ago.

I had focused so long on the dark clouds above

that I failed to notice the blooming flower

smiling up at me – the first one to bloom in my lifetime.

I failed to notice…

Was it the cloud that cleared up or the dawn that broke?

Was it a flash of lightning?

No –

just one angel, bearing gifts

and a lantern…

the eleventh hour had always been special..

the synchronicity blew my mind..

I turned around, away from the gloom

beheld my garden bloom

with roses red and the fiery plume

of a phoenix, risen

Daylight poured in and the dark skies were torn

on the first day of the eleventh month

in hope, I was reborn…

© Isha Garg
Doodle by Isha Garg

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23 thoughts on “1,11”

  1. And I almost wanted to wait till 11.11pm to make this comment, but the impulse to convey a compliment of three was overpowering. A lovely composition, sweet Ishu. Shall you be taking any special requests for an audio version….preferably singing ? For there is so much potential here for that well rounded artist I know you to be!
    Glorious Day to you dear I. 😘🌹💕😊😁

    Liked by 3 people

    1. Your words, sweet Diana, are always special, no matter the time or place (or app!) Hehe. I’m so thankful for your friendship – nothing short of a wondrous synchronicity in itself, a gift from the universe 😍😘
      As for the audio version, well… first, bring me a platter of blueberry pancakes! 😁💕

      Liked by 1 person

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