“through the act of living, the discovery of oneself is made concurrently with the discovery of the world around us. . ."
Saturday, July 11, 2009
Standing, as often I do, beneath my old mango tree,
I wonder how it would look without the leaves.
Without the mangoes, without the branches
Without the birds that sit preening on them.
The thick trunk sawed off, roots pulled out
Tiles or cement choking the earth.
For one, sunlight would be brighter; and glare
Upon the tiled roof of my house.
No more yellowed leaves to sweep away in the morning.
No more bird droppings to wash off
No more bat-eaten, splattered mangoes.
No more flies swarming around
No more air, thick
With the smell of the ripe, golden fruits.
No more, the tapping of the woodpecker
No more, the screeching kites.
No more, the night heron resting
No more, the crows squabbling
No more, the squirrels scuttling.
No more, the wind-dance of the branches
No more, the chatter of leaves.
No more, the creaking swing
No more, the green, greeting my eyes.
No more, I, the boy
who gazed up the tree, longing,with love.
I look around for a fallen twig -
Last mangoes of the season dangle in the sky.
*********** Balachandran, Trivandrum,10.07.09
Posted by Balachandran V at Saturday, July 11, 2009