Monday, April 30, 2007


Summer time
All fruits disappear
The king of fruits arrives
Mangoes flock
the market stocks
I see them all around
At every street
At every signal
The urchins run behind
Every car
Offering the yellowish
Green, pulpy fruit

Speaking, er… writing
Of mangoes, sorry sir
I no like mangoes
Nor I care
My visitors no understand
And bring in a heap
They lie in my kitchen
On a shelf,
in pitiful state.
I wait in vain
For guest to arrive
Who would slurp
These mangoes
Before they crumple
And lose their grace.

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