My Mango Tree

I loved that guava tree

It was perfect

The greenest green and the sweetest it could be


Huge as the arms of my would be

And trustworthy as no one could ever be


I was very fond of it

No matter what my grandfather told me


He told me the roots of the guava tree are weak

And it will die in a week.


I cried and cried

Till the last leaf dried


And then I looked up in the sky

There were birds and planes and breeze and rain


I wondered how I never looked beyond the tree

That beauty I ignored till I was 23.


The world that ended in the vastness of that guava tree

Now became an explorer’s dream

The feeling was that of the bird who is free


But deep inside I longed for another tree

A tree that is deep rooted at least


And then I found my mango tree

I feel best blessed with it


Now I am thirty-three

And wish to live till one hundred and three

As that is the age of my mango tree.


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