Between the Wind and White Flowers

It was 5th July, around 6 PM, just after a rain. I was sitting by the window of a crowded bus, using the window as my shield so no one would ask for my seat. The roads were wet, the light was soft, and the world felt briefly clean and slow.

Then I saw

eyes are looking to know the wait,
catching the view of the art.
none of us are waiting to see,
we’re all running behind the falling tree...

suddenly, the view gets stuck on a beauty—
a moment I had never seen before.
one holding the weight of the earth,
one holding the light of glamour,
one holding the confusion between a saint,
and a need too proud to speak.

the wind passes through each the same,
but she stands like an ice mountain—
calling everyone to praise,
yet not hoping anyone would explore.

I was with the wind,
free-flowing, moving with nothing to hold.
but near her,
even the wind seemed to pause.

the closest I’ve felt—
after the rain, each colour was holding her hand,
asking her never to leave,
never to leave.

and I,
still in a moving bus,
kept looking back—
as if beauty like that
might vanish if no one watched.

by Suraj Godiyal

Between the Wind and White Flowers – My Reflection

🟫 Stanza 1

eyes are looking to know the wait,
catching the view of the art.
none of us are waiting to see,
we’re all running behind the falling tree...

What I saw:
I was sitting at the window seat of a crowded bus after the rain. It was a bit humid. The roads were wet, the light was fading — around 6 PM. As I looked out, I realized how no one really stops. People move, rush, cross — but they don’t look. I was the only one who was just... watching.

🟫 Stanza 2

suddenly, the view gets stuck on a beauty—
a moment I had never seen before.
one holding the weight of the earth,
one holding the light of glamour,
one holding the confusion between a saint,
and a need too proud to speak.

What I saw:
Then I saw her.
A girl, maybe 25 or 26, standing at the side of the road with flowers — some resting on her shoulder, some in her hand. She was selling them, but she wasn’t moving. She wasn’t asking, just standing — still and strong — in the middle of a red-light crossroad.

🟫 Stanza 3

the wind passes through each the same,
but she stands like an ice mountain—
calling everyone to praise,
yet not hoping anyone would explore.

What I saw:
The breeze was brushing through the streets, across people and vehicles. Life was moving fast, without pause. But not her. She stood like a statue — like a mountain of ice. Unshaken. Cold, maybe. But beautiful.

🟫 Stanza 4

I was with the wind,
free-flowing, moving with nothing to hold.
but near her,
even the wind seemed to pause.

What I saw:
Before that moment, I was just going with the flow. Nothing deep, just another ride. But when I saw her, my mind stopped. I couldn’t look away. It felt like even the wind that was touching everyone passed her... slower.

🟫 Stanza 5

the closest I’ve felt—
after the rain, each colour was holding her hand,
asking her never to leave,
never to leave.

What I saw:
The rain had just stopped, and everything felt fresh. Colours looked brighter. The road, the air — it was all shining a little. She looked like she belonged to that moment — like nature itself was holding her there.

🟫 Stanza 6 (Ending)

and I,
still in a moving bus,
kept looking back—
as if beauty like that
might vanish if no one watched.

What I saw:
The light turned green. The bus started moving. She stayed behind, still standing the same way. I turned my head, kept watching her as long as I could.

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