Like those
antique mango trees in the yard,
Thou art
decrepit, thy limbs stiff-rough
As the
coarsest example could be—
The askew
trunk dehydrated like a sheet of dried leather,
Like an
aged man with arthritis limping his way off.
But, when
then, thy limbs strong with lush green foliages,
The
heart-shaped ones glistened through timely transpiration,
Adorning thee with an air of urbanity and vanity.
And the
mouth-watering fruits laden at the other times,
Green dull
to crimson tinted with yellowish thin strips,
Thy true
glamour like the essence of thy existence
That
tantalized us, the hungry novices, into desperate leaps,
The
anxiety obsessed leaps and pelting to get one plucked
At the
cost of getting caught by the sturdy aged one,
Who was
like stationed for such thieving, us,
Who was
the caretaker of the simple shrine by thou.
And now,
in retrospect, wistfully I evoke thee
Next by
the simple shrine that had nourished my thoughts
As you had
nourished my imaginations—
Now a true
calling I can hear to do something for thee,
A word of
remembrance as not to be ungrateful
That I am
not. Could I be the only one hearing thy call?
With the
maturity of my mind and intellect,
Though
suffered much thru discriminating flurries,
I find a
moment now for thee, a healing drop it’s.
So healing
thy memories with the simple shrine,
So special
thou art ever to be cherished,
A bridge that
connects to the moments innocent
To the formative
years, so needy for now,
The struggling
entity to feel at ease for a moment.
