Apples in April
Summer seeps through
Downed shutters of this compartment windows
Thrusting samples of heat and smells of ripen mangoes
Through these slender spaces of grooves
Which station is this? Or no station?
The engine shrieks in heated protest against undue stay,
Demanding signals to redeem the speed
Of this tedious train bound to climb mountains.
You click open the shutter
And there outside the summer welcomes
Invites you to the golden glow
Mirages along with falling mangoes,
From the grove near your bogey.
One ...two .. three
They fall before your eyes
Showing how the mangoes fall
Do they know, or anyone in this compartment?
You are speeding through the sky and sea,
Rough earthly roads and now on rails,
To see the first falls of your apple trees
You planted, watered and waited for fruition
How you longed to see their
Falling one by one in full bloom!
Does anyone know what is the heat behind longing?
Have they fallen? Are they waiting ?
'Madame.. madame..mangoes..tasty ripe mangoes..'
A bright faced girl stretching hands to your face
With fallen mangoes from the outer.
How confident are those eyes? What a faith!
You buy without bargain though you don't intend.
Your apples are waiting for April and you. They may.
No comments:
Post a Comment