The Flame You Mistook For a Flower

It was all in a dream the other day. The rustic path was dimly lit with the glow of a setting sun. Walking by my side in the winding way, the escort angel was singing a lullaby. She said, “You are born a woman. Understand the honest purpose of your life. You were born to garnish the barebone mankind. You live to serve aesthetic pleasure to all those who behold you. Therefore prink yourself accordingly before you step out. You are worthy just like the pearl in your choker. You are the soothing serenade to the slumbering earth. Your steps are encumbered but artfully so by the albatross of embodying perfection. You are the art of an artist’s hand, the arc of your eyes, the line of your lips, the soft colour, the paleness of your skin culminate to structure beauty. And if the artist a blunder made and your skin is not the correct shade worry not little weakling, votre maquillage vous sauvera. A dulcet tone, demure eyes, rouge cheeks and alluring smile, like a blooming flower you shall appeal to human eyes. Yet angel mark these words the devil, she will come, vindictive and full of vice. She will rip your apparel and stain your name.  The wild maenad and won’t stop at a thing to tarnish your beauty and win your fame. Careful! For fatal she could be like Greek Athena to filthy Medusa. Confront her like a rabid dog, do not let her escape. Keep in mind however, rose sting with your thornes only those witches  that dare to bloom over you. For the man you preserve your petals. Obscenity is not your thing, you are a pristine being. Purity emblazones your sleek frame. Remain forever grateful little flower, you were allowed to spread your calyx, not nipped in the bud.”

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The darkness around was steadying . My mind was buzzing with her song. My heart was pounding against my ribs. Will I stand a chance in the arena of perfection that I was walking into? How strong will my opponent fiend be? Oh among so many flowers will I catch the eye of the man? A timid voice that was deep inside was making a few last feeble attempts to tell me “You are a woman! A flame not a flower. You burn alone, you light the way. You shine so bright you dazzle their eyes. Perfection is what you are. And you are a flame not a flower.” I was embracing the darkness around to keep off the cold but it froze my insides. The darkness was deepening , when suddenly cutting through the dark the sun flashed in the sky, the last glow of twilight. The flame stung my eyes, the heat melted my iced brain. The dying voice found a new strength. ” But who laid these doctrines down that only a lady is to follow? And who assigned these critiques to chase me with a judgement sheet? Why so much contempt in their glare? Why am I to still put on this garment of perfection though it hurts my stride? Why can’t I step out of my doors on the risky night? And what if in a mindless battle I don’t want to fight ? ” I heard my voice question

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Startled the angel uttered a cry, “Heavens forbid! If she lives all beauty shall die! She will inflame young minds, the wild fire shall reduce all the grace to ashes. Oh the shame your family is to bear! Shut for heaven’s sake another word I shall not hear. ” But my timid voice was roaring then, ” Beauty is not butchered in human hands. It resides deep inside shielded from your lethal touch”. She blew  words to smother my fire but they made it burn only brighter…

Stupefied the angel watched me go. I walked the remaining road all alone. The light at the end  beakoned to me. My timid voice was then breathing fire. I roared to the earth : “I am a flame not a flower”

– Debanshi

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