A poem inspired by both the daffodil as the Greek myth of Narcissus, who fell in love with his own reflection, this is the poem by the hand of Aditya Rao.


Narcissus portrayed in the Roman de la Rose. Source: Wikimedia Commons.

The Greek myth of Narcissus stars (obviously) the hunter from Thespiae. He was the son of the river god Cephissus and the nymph Liriope. It was the goddess Nemesis (also known as Rhamnousia) who tempted the beautiful Narcissus to a pool that showed his reflection. He fell in love with the reflection of himself. Unable to understand this was merely a reflection of himself, he stayed near the pool. He finally lost the will to live.

We know the term narcissism as a fixation of someone on themselves and the will to only admire someone owns attributes. Not caring for the attributes of others. Selfishness beyond, one might say.

Narcissus is also a plant. It is one of the perennial plants that is linked to spring. The narcissus is also known under the names daffodil, daffadowndilly and jonquil.

The poet Aditya Rao wrote a poem about this thing we know as narcissus. In his caption he used on his Instagram profile, he wrote:

A new piece of mine. Narcissus refers to the daffodil as well as the Greek myth of the eponymous person who fatally fell in love with his own reflection (hence the modern term “narcissism”). A reminder that it’s always important to try and stay grounded and be conscientious. Sepals and tepals are anatomical parts of flowers, one fused and the other separate.




By Aditya Rao

Apart from all the principle and people
Quarantined in such sickly solitude;
Spent your days in undead, infected wood
Where sepal can scarce be told from tepal.

As go the seasons by, you’d slowly die-
And rightly so; none to remember you:
Your very doings to dismember you
Till unmade, muted by your knowing why.

Naught to prove perennial of you, save
Symptoms of friendships failed and broken trust;
Must flora be rust-wrought till turned to dust
That may mark some yet unmet, early grave?

Tastes acquired of folk medicine sour:
In the end-of your so few friends bereft;
To go wither away, till all that’s left
Is a lone reflection of a flower.

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