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A noh every mango got maggige.

Jamaican proverbs
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Seasonal Cycle - Chapter 06 - Spring

"Oh, dear, with the just unfolded tender leaflets of Mango trees as his incisive arrows, and with shining strings of honeybees as his bowstring, the assailant named Vasanta came very nigh, to afflict the hearts of those that are fully engaged in affairs of lovemaking...

"Oh, dear, in Vasanta, Spring, trees are with flowers and waters are with lotuses, hence the breezes are agreeably fragrant with the fragrance of those flowers, thereby the eventides are comfortable and even the daytimes are pleasant with those fragrant breezes, thereby the women are with concupiscence, thus everything is highly pleasing...

"This Spring season endows prosperity to waters of swimming pools, and to moonshine, for their water or shine is pleasurable, and even to mango trees, as their flowers are just flowered, more so, to the bejewelled girdle strings of women, for their wearing is neither cumbersome nor irksome in this season, thus it endows prosperity to womenfolk of age, as they enjoy in wearing them, thus they too, become enjoyable, these days...

"These days the flirtatious women are adorning their roundish behinds with silk cloths that are dyed with Kusumbha flower's reddish dye, and their bosomy busts with thin silks that are dyed with ocherish and reddish colours, for thinness and silkiness are agreeable in this thinnish ambience...

"The womenfolk of age are now decorating their temples with just unfolded new whitish flowers of Karnikara, and with new and reddish Ashoka flowers and with whitish jasmines flowers in their blackish hair-locks that are swaying, thus unfolded is the beauty of these women, with the flourishing resplendence of these newly unfolded flowers...

"The bosoms of women with burly rumps, whose hearts are now flurried by the Love-god, are now sharing pearly pendants that are wetted with white sandal-paste that is bedaubed on their busts, and their biceps with circlets of bicep-lets, and their hiplines with the strings of cinctures, that are till recently unbearably coldish to touch... thus, the touch of season is romantic...

"The golden lotuses like faces of flirtatious women are tattooed with erasable foliage tattoos with black Kasturi lines, and in those designs sweat-drops are now percolating, with them those faces are delightfully beautified as gem-studded jewellery, interspersed with pearls...

"Now the limbs of womenfolk are flustered by the Love-god, thus they are panting for their need-fulfilment, hence they are now loosening the fastenings of their undergarments, since spring fever makes them sultrily fervent, thus they are enamoured of their lovers, who are tarrying at their nearby...

"The Love-god is making the limbs of sybaritic women as thinnish, palish and lethargic, and tending to yawn time and again, and with these syndromes the bodies of women are becoming restless in the spring fever, with an air of enchantment...

"Now the Love-god is diversely apparent in women, who are jaded out by hard drinks, for their eyes are fluttery, their cheeks are whitely, their bosoms are stony, their waists are slimly, and their behinds are sturdy... thus these features are the evidences for their seasonal infatuation with Him...

"Advent to spring Love-god makes the limbs of womenfolk sluggishly dizzy with sleepiness, He makes their speech a little teeter-tottering with sensualities, and He also makes their looks aslant with the knitting and unknitting of their eyebrows, seeking vehement sensual pleasures...

"The frolicsome and lustful women that are with faineance are bedaubing their whitish bosoms with sandal-paste, in which well kneaded are the fragrant seeds of Priyangu, yellowish turmeric, saffron and musk, to relieve themselves of spring fever...

"These days the people, whose limbs are wearied down with their desire induced ebullience, are wearing thinnish cloths, that are fumigated with fragrant aloe vera resin and dyed in the colour of reddish lac resin, quickly discarding their coarse clothing, for this season is neither coarse nor crude...

"The passionate male koel, black singing bird, on savouring the invigorative essence of just grown flowers of Mango trees, is gladdened and passionately kissing his love, so also this honeybee, abiding in lotuses, and savouring their nectar, this too is passionately mating with his love to her complaisance, sequestered in the petals of lotuses...

"Delightful are the branches of mango trees that are laden with bunches of coppery tender leaves, and with just flowered flowers, and with their heads a little bent down, for they simile with the bashful women, whose heads are with flowery hairdos and coppery half-veils, and a little bent down and swaying in lustiness, like mango treetops that are gently swaying, swayed by the gentle breezes of this season, and on identifying themselves with those mango trees, the womenfolk is rendered muchly overenthusiastic for love, in this spring time...

"All-over adorned are those Ashoka trees with bunches of reddish folioles, and reddish flowers that resemble the hue of red corals, and when the new entrants to adulthood are observing those unfolded red flowers, those Ashoka trees are making them agonised, for unfulfilled is their new longing for a newish love...

"The charming flowers of mango trees are with delightful thickish buds, and they are overly swilled by tipsy honeybees, and slow breezes are flurrying and tilting their delicate leaflets, thus when lovelorn youngsters observe them, their hearts are quickly ecstasized by those mango trees...

"Oh, dear, the mien of this season is akin to the facial resplendence of ladyloves, with the utmost beauty of the clusters of flowers of Kuravaka plants that are uprisen in this season, and if this is observed by any good-hearted person, won't his heart be agonised, indeed, struck by the arrow of Love-god?

"The ruddy flowers in springtime are sprung by the winds simile with the reddy flames that are just now set to flame, and everywhere the earth is overspread with such brakes of Kimshuka trees, and presently when their treetops are bent under the weight of those red flowers, whole of this earth similes with a new bride, shining forth in her new bridal redly costume, and her head a little bent under the half-veil of that costume...

"Aren't the youthful hearts of youthful lovers that are hidden in the hearts of their pretty faced ladyloves unsplit by these Kimshuka flowers, that are in shine with the reddish bills of parrots... aren't they already and definitely burnt by the flame-like redly Karnikaara flowers... then why for this Kokila, the black singing bird, is again gnawing away those hearts, with its gnawingly melodious singing...

"Passion is surging out in male Kokila-s, singing birds, as they obtained jollity in this springtime on chewing mango flowers, thus they are singing inexplicably, and the honeybees, when they are drunk with the flowery nectar of those flowers, they are also droning hums murmuringly as their drinking song, and with these hums and drones the hearts of new brides are flustered in a trice, even if they are in the service of their in-laws, where certain docility and prudishness are in demand...

"On the departure of mist-fall in springtime, the propitious breeze is breezing pleasantly to undulate the flowered branches of Mango trees, and to transmit the singings of Kokila-s in all directions, thereby to steal the hearts of humans, who can neither be blatant nor silent, of their longings...

"These days the pleasure gardens are brightened up with whitely jasmines, thus they simile with the toothy grins of sprightly brides, and hence they are heart-stealing, and these gardens are now stealing the hearts of saints or sages that have neutralised their materialistic indulgences long back, as such, these gardens must have stolen the hearts of youths, which are already tainted with seasonal sensualities...

"This Madhu month, Chaitra, nectarean month at the end of springtime, is forcefully stealing away the hearts of people, for the womenfolk, whose bodies are slenderised by the pride of Love-god, is eyeful with their golden strings of girdle that are pensile onto their hiplines, and their bosoms are clung by pendulous pearly pendants, besides, earful are the singings of Kokila-s and the humming of honeybees...

"These interiors of visible horizon are comprised of mountains that are adorned with divers and delightful flowery trees, and the areas of those mountainsides are hurly-burly with the singings of Kokila-s, and the masses of their rock faces are hemmed in and enwrapped with fragrant mountainy moss, that comes out now when those rocks were fissured during last summer, to see such an environ, all the people are rejoiced...

[...] Read more

poem by Kalidasa
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Noh cup noh brok, noh coffee noh trow weh.

Jamaican proverbs
Added by Lucian Velea
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Fatso & His Lady!

That mango tree was no normal
It got immense love so mortal
From dawn to dusk he watered
Hoping it is never left shattered
Plucking the fruits in noon
He sat by it with all bloom.

That mango tree is no normal
It got immense love so mortal
What is it that brings that bloom
In this man so fat & hair so white
Was the thought that always rung
When I usually see him sing.

That mango tree is no normal
It got immense love so mortal
My lady love sowed this seed
& fed to it her life
I cried cried & I cried
And one day she grew up
Through ground & this is it
He told with a whisper.

That mango tree is no normal
It got immense love so immortal
Telling his tale of love
He had the last mango from it
He bore a smile on face
A tear in each eye
The seed in his palm.

That mango tree is no normal
It got immense love so mortal
Inspite of it being watered
Although I gave utmost care
In no time it became dry
And in air remained only their love……..

poem by BhanuPrakash Singh
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Last Mango In Paris

Last mango in paris
By: jimmy buffett, marshall chapman, will jennings, michael utley
1985
"for all the living legends i've had the pleasure to know. there's
Still so much to be done."
I went down to captain tony's
To get out of the heat
Then i heard a voice call out to me
"son come have a seat"
I had to search my memory
As i looked into those eyes
Our lives change like the weather
But a legend never dies
Chorus:
He said i ate the last mango in paris
Took the last plane out of saigon
Took the first fast boat to china
And jimmy there's still so much to be done
I had a third world girl in buzios
With a pistol in each hand
She always kept me covered
As we moved from land to land
I had a damn good run on wall street
With my high fashion model wife
I woke up dry beneath the african sky
Just me and my swiss army knife
Chorus:
I ate the last mango in paris
Took the last plane out of saigon
Took the first fast boat to china
And jimmy there's still so much to be done
We shot the breeze for hours
As the sun fell from the sky
And like the sun he disappeared
Before my very eyes
It was somewhere past dark-thirty
And i went back to the head
I read upon the dingy wall
The words the old man said:
I ate the last mango in paris
Took the last plane out of saigon
Took the first fast boat to china
And jimmy there's still so much to be done
I ate the last mango in paris
Took the last plane out of saigon
Took the first fast boat to china
And jimmy there's still so much to be done
That's why we wander and follow la vie dansante
- notes:
Background vocals: timothy b. schmit

song performed by Jimmy Buffett
Added by Lucian Velea
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The Mango-Tree

He wiled me through the furzy croft;
He wiled me down the sandy lane.
He told his boy's love, soft and oft,
Until I told him mine again.

We married, and we sailed the main;
A soldier, and a soldier's wife.
We marched through many a burning plain;
We sighed for many a gallant life.

But his-God kept it safe from harm.
He toiled, and dared, and earned command;
And those three stripes upon his arm
Were more to me than gold or land.

Sure he would win some great renown:
Our lives were strong, our hearts were high.
One night the fever struck him down.
I sat, and stared, and saw him die.

I had his children-one, two, three.
One week I had them, blithe and sound.
The next-beneath this mango-tree,
By him in barrack burying-ground.

I sit beneath the mango-shade;
I live my five years' life all o'er-
Round yonder stems his children played;
He mounted guard at yonder door.

'Tis I, not they, am gone and dead.
They live; they know; they feel; they see.
Their spirits light the golden shade
Beneath the giant mango-tree.

All things, save I, are full of life:
The minas, pluming velvet breasts;
The monkeys, in their foolish strife;
The swooping hawks, the swinging nests;

The lizards basking on the soil,
The butterflies who sun their wings;
The bees about their household toil,
They live, they love, the blissful things.

Each tender purple mango-shoot,
That folds and droops so bashful down;
It lives; it sucks some hidden root;
It rears at last a broad green crown.

[...] Read more

poem by Charles Kingsley
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Under The Mango Tree

i like the idea
of doing many things under the mango tree
like
watching time go by like it is a stranger
and i
am a stranger too watching time pass by
like i am so interested
with what time
can do to me

making me old
making the mango tree bloom and flower and have fruits
and they are so many
that the mango tree bends
to the ground
and time stays for a while and ripens the fruits
and make all of them
in time
fall one by one to the ground
like some kind
of withered flowers

luscious, sweet, fruits of the mango tree
falling
by the slightest passing of the wind
and then the children
come and with all joy
pick them one by one
putting what they can
under
their shirts and still rushing
to keep
and take some more

under the mango tree
all the people
are so much alike

the rushing, the taking, the joy
of always having more

and it will never stop
as i watch time slowly go by

poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Woman is like a mango

A girl is a mango infantile,
That tastes in pickles.
A lass is about ripe mango,
That tastes in curries.
A woman is a ripe mango,
That tastes with its flesh.
At forties as juice and at fifties
As jelly, she lingers to my taste.
Even in sixties, she is like mango-essence.
In seventies, as endosperm of its nut
She still taste though differently.
Woman to men is evergreen.
29.05.2001, Berhampur

poem by Rm. Shanmugam Chettiar
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Boasting About Trees

There you stood among other trees
In a garden of legendary emeralds
Your luxuriant leaves waving to the heavens
You arresting branches kissing the sky
Honey cannot be compared to thee
You are my mango tree

My enraptured eyes are still swimming in bliss
From the first time they saw you
Untouched, unspoiled and unsurpassed
Flora of such sublime character
Honey cannot be compared to thee
You are my mango tree

My heart swims in the deluge of desire
Sweet songs of attraction, passion and fire
It is you that awakens my appetite
My dulcet cynosure
Honey cannot be compared to thee
You are my mango tree

Others may boast of oranges and apples
Grapes and pears and pomegranates too
I will be silent until I talk of you
And from my lips will dropp the words
Honey cannot be compared to thee
You are my mango tree

poem by Howard Simon
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Howdy an 'tenk yu, noh brok noh square.

Jamaican proverbs
Added by Lucian Velea
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Man noh dead, noh call 'im duppy.

Jamaican proverbs
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Man noh done cross riva, noh fi cuss alligator long mout long.

Jamaican proverbs
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we Filipinos have also our own nationalistic pride

like you we are also nationalists in our own
brown right
try disciminating us and we also know how to discriminate you
(of course)
in our country (Lang) only

if you are hospitable to us we are even more hospitable to you
we have roasted pigs for dinner
fresh cocoa, hot with gelatenous rice (suman) and sweet ripe mangoes
served on breakfast
and some delicacies of fried frogs, snakes, eels, and dog meat,
wild boars,
(sa mga bukot bukot lang pud noon)
and coconut meat (butong palana ba?) and pork (adobo nga gasinaw sinaw
sa tambok tambal sa highblood)

we provide you free board and lodging and free ballroom dancing
in our barangay with the town mayor even as emcee
for your welcome party

and lots and lots of free entertainment and it will only take you
with little american things to flatter us

giving us chocolates
and some key chains and books (nga dili pud namo basahon noh
kay daghang trabaho sa bukid or book marks
to reciprocate us

but take note, if you insult us, the whole barrio shall be against you,
and some cannot hold their temper
(ag mga adis adis ug mga ilaga kaniadto nga mokilaw ug atay sa tawo
kadtong dili madutlan ug bala)
they will eat you raw and you embassy will have a hard time tracing your
whereabouts
or your bones and other body parts scattered in some
parts of this philippine archipelago

see? welcome to our country. Behave Baby.
No one will skin you alive.

so? be good always, and we will also be good to you.
Reciprocity. Mutuality. International Cooperation.

These are our keys to open our country's doors.
(galot pud ang pinoy? noh?)
And there are no closing hours.

poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Kajura

My love for you is like the big mango tree in my compound,
Upon which sits the monkey to look at you;
But i will follow you to Hew Guinea!
Of fowls, ducks, goats ans sheep to play in this compound;
And it is like the rice and chicken that you love to eat,
But we will sleep well under this mosquito net of love.
Don't worry my love,
For the centre of my compound is this mango tree!
And we should take life as it is around us,
For my love for you is like the big mango tree in my compound.
You and i have to accept this chronology and,
There is a place for us to sit and drink at times;
So come and drink a bottle of whisky with me tonight.
Kajura my love,
I want to tell you more about myself and more about life!
But the myth of love is all that hangs arouns us,
And i am the leader around here to lead you on.

poem by Edward Kofi Louis
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Domestic Shades-21

Old House, Mango Trees, Carpenter Ants

What an odd life in an old house
With dimmed white-wash for years
All of hopeful ashes and holy fires,
By cracky, to end with blessed bows

But seemed not enough and healthy..
With its falling mortar scaly patchy
House was bending to touch me touchy
I was all in screams and unhealthy

Mango flowering too wasn't smelling
Though season was ready up for blooming
Three mango trees huge and hefty booming
Then in slow rest enough of dwelling

Some recommended more 'pooja' and 'homam'
For I was in grip of Saturn's momentum
Oh Shani, won't you rest me in peace's stratum'
'All till delicacies, accept from this home-mom'

So I pondered on as to what to do
House repairing earlier to go through
Garden repairing too through and through
So we all sat and discussed as to what to do

Then suddenly one reason found so radical
When I was stung by a black demon whimsical
And I shouted 'chee Shaniane' very allegorical
That my hubby mocked'ho worship is paradoxical'

Anyway, on hunting they swarmed from everywhere
Infesting to dig tunnels all there and there
Pinchable head and waist..they foraged, how dare
Ultimate battling, I picked up one and said 'beware'

That invasion on carpenter ants, hard too much
House maintenance is ever difficult very much
But never say'move on to a flat'that much
Jailed, will the oldies relish so much?

poem by Indira Renganathan
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Where the Sidewalk Ends

where the sidewalk ends
now a nursery school stands
it slowly quietly comes alive at morn
the gentleness of a breeze as
children with their bags on their backs
walk, run into their classrooms
after the first light of morn

where the sidewalk ends
now a nursery school stands
it quietens down at the last light of dusk
the gentleness of a breeze
as children leave and go happy that they
have fulfilled mom's and dad's wishes
and learnt a few rudimentary words and grammar
their laughters and cheers as they leave
echo those in the lane of my memory
- a few young boys and girls swarming round
a mango tree shaking for its last mango
it had missed my friends and dropped right on my left eye
before plopping onto the ground with a 'bruise' on its yellowish skin
i could still hear the cheers and the question 'who will take this? '

little mary always got the fruit of our play
guess what, she also got married to the best boy of the gang
yesteryears' cheers still shore up the camaraderie
in her reunion dos for all of us
come rain or shine we woud all try to attend
but sadly we would never see the faces of all
someone, somewhere had always ended up at the
sidewalk of another lane, road

where the sidewalk ends now a
nursery school stands evoking
the wondrous time we had spent here

where the sidewalk ends
the first lesson of life begins
where smiles, cheeers and tears
come straight from the hearts
how in every reunion we tried hard
to laugh in the same way, but always
resulted with a tinge of regret we would never
be able to do it the way when we were children
it hurt us like the bruised mango that
had fallen hardhazardly on the lane of our memory

where the sidewalk ends
now stands a nursery school
where joy and laughter abound

poem by John Tiong Chunghoo
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The Birth of The War-God (Canto Third ) - The Death of Love

Is eager gaze the sovereign of the skies
looked full on Káma with his thousand eyes:
E'en such a gaze as trembling suppliants bend,
When danger threatens, on a mighty friend.
Close by his side, where Indra bade him rest,
The Love-God sate, and thus his lord addressed:
'All-knowing Indra, deign, my Prince, to tell
Thy heart's desire in earth, or heaven, or hell:
Double the favour, mighty sovereign, thou
Hast thought on Káma, O, command him now:
Who angers thee by toiling for the prize,
By penance, prayer, or holy sacrifice?
What mortal being dost thou count thy foe?
Speak, I will tame him with my darts and bow.
Has some one feared the endless change of birth,
And sought the path that leads the soul from earth?
Slave to a glancing eye thy foe shall bow,
And own the witchery of a woman's brow;
E'en though the object of thine envious rage
Were taught high wisdom by the immortal sage,
With billowy passions will I whelm his soul,
Like rushing waves that spurn the bank's control.
Or has the ripe full beauty of a spouse,
Too fondly faithful to her bridal vows,
Ravished thy spirit from thee? Thine, all thine
Around thy neck her loving arms shall twine.
Has thy love, jealous of another's charms,
Spurned thee in wrath when flying to her arms?
I'll rack her yielding bosom with such pain,
Soon shall she be all love and warmth again,
And wildly fly in fevered haste to rest
Her aching heart close, close to thy dear breast.
Lay, Indra, lay thy threatening bolt aside:
My gentle darts shall tame the haughtiest pride,
And all that war with heaven and thee shall know
The magic influence of thy Káma's bow;
For woman's curling lip shall bow them down,
Fainting in terror at her threatening frown.
Flowers are my arms, mine only warrior Spring,
Yet in thy favour am I strong, great King.
What can their strength who draw the bow avail
Against my matchless power when I assail?
Strong is the Trident-bearing God, yet he,
The mighty Śiva, e'en, must yield to me.'
Then Indra answered with a dawning smile,
Resting his foot upon a stool the while:
'Dear God of Love, thou truly hast displayed
The power unrivalled of thy promised aid.
My hope is all in thee: my weapons are
The thunderbolt and thou, more mighty far.

[...] Read more

poem by Kalidasa
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On this silly hill

On this silly hill I remember the silly things
That we did
We were so young and we decided to pick
Some ripe mangoes on this silly
Isolated hill away from
Our teasing
Silly friends

And I really liked her a lot
My heart was trembling
Her heart too quivering
We felt we like each other
Feelings like hot chili
Heating our ears

We said we love each other
We promised to love each other
Till the end of days

And so I climbed the mango tree
And picked the most luscious
Delicious mangoes as may be gleaned
From their color and shape
Thinking all the best for her
That I could give
To her

I put all the mangoes in my shirt
And I was silly looking silly like a tray to her
And she picked them one by one
Near my chest lower to my tummy
Nearer to my bulge

I was breathless
As she took more
Ripe mangoes from me
Slowly
Gracefully
Peeling with her mouth and tongue
Licking the yellowish pulp
And she said the mangoes were all
So sweet smelling and delicious
Like me

She was craving
She was raving
I was simply receptive
Giving in
All
To what she wanted

[...] Read more

poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Summer Of Mango Showers! ! ! !

Prolific Spring has thrown in her towel,
To tussel with torrid chaos in warm April,
Sun’s slow winter seduction has gone in vain,
In myriad sighs of lonely distress blazes in ruthless campaign,
Like a flame held too close to the heart,
Hoarding too many years in one brief season,
He unerringly darts,

Feverish Indian Summer dons a crest of heat & dust,
Over hot macadam that tape &measure, the breath of summer,
Land contours that crack crease & dry, a pattern of brine fits the paper sky,
Scorching days like time-worn love that tingles the heart & torches the sky,

Dusty flowers crumble, slipping through his golden fingers,
Two horizons hover, in a mirage of packed dirt in nervous squiggles,
The hurting fields furrowed, poke heaven in the underbelly,
Temples find no devotees glistening in communal sweat,
Like its turrets in filigree,
After the scorn of summer, days shall return with the resoluteness of winter.! ! ! !

Nature lays out a charpoy & unabashed sprawls for a siesta in the open,
Polar houses & streets wear the wrestled dust of an entire season,
Only love weathers in the throes of summer -upbeat,
Each day kindles love’s slackened heat.

From under dusty lashes comes the long glance of parched thirst,
Not for love’s tender flatteries, but the touch of a glance as soothing as strumming rain,
Bringing a kernel of goodness of paralyzed spring,
Heaven swings in lachrymal downpour to aid mango ripening,

Clouds crack a lightening repartee in a screaming whistle,
Wind blows her phlegmatic bugle, ground rushes to meet in a sizzle,
Clouds sail on first sigh & on a second dropp a downpour,
In rhythm to the peacock’s dance prepare for mango shower.

Mango trees shudder with their skirt lengths dropped so low,
Under the hem even the bare tree hips do not show,

Scenes hang in stained glass as water trickles in aluminum foils,
Howling in a spate of red wine, crops douse in turbid sheets of oil,
The farmer sickle in hand seeks ten thousand divinities to bless his land,
Early mangoes dropout in sweet panic, exuding an incense of turpentine.
Rainbows in hairpin curves, are plucked & washed in nervous puddles,
Nature shows herself in wet garments, sun stealthily peeps,
Like bridal showers consecrated with the sacred fire.
bidding farewells the bride weeps.

Our first affections, made these years a puff of listless delay,
Cherishing more than what these hapless years can take away.

[...] Read more

poem by Seema joglekar
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Once I Was A Prince

Once i was a prince in your highbeamed palm-thatched house
timber and stone
of hardened mud and cold green shiny cement
in your village ribbed with drying splintering palmleaf fences
buttressed by ferns
palmyra jackfruit mango trees standing solitary sentinel in compound
corners

then just for a month
i was a prince in your eyes
i hazarded the Bay of Bengal on a lolling steamer
and watched in unbelief naked children dive for coins in the Nagapattinam offshore anchorage
just to be with you
still a teeny dreamy youth
and there you were
afraid that your village ways might irk me
make me want to go back before time

the day i arrived a double murder in the island
a day or two earlier another
vendetta vengeance wreaked in blood for slights of caste contraventions
other threats other life-taking threats for mere unintended insults
innuendoes injuries
to the state of one's birth
to the validity of one's finance one's moral upstandingness one's looks one's genealogy
a longdrawnout court case for the plucking of a ripe mango from an overhanging branch in the neighbour's compound

sitting squat on your two firm broiled scarred feet
your coarse borderless demure saree stretched to its apparent tatters
your stalwart all-bearing sturdiness masked in that humble crouching
posture
your rough-rolled cheroot smouldering on the edge of the kitchen-patio
cemented mudfloor
and rolling off the corner of the wallbacked seat from where you listened to the swish swish of my coming down the fine sand-filled path rising swiftly furtively only to prepare the ceremonial washing of my feet hands face with the natural coolness from your own ancestral well the chembu as you reverently tilted it giving off just that much of thrashing water into my upturned cupped hands
your meloncholy dreamy gaze riveted on my face my hands my hair my feet recalling perhaps the husband you moaned and whom I had never seen not even in a word-picture
your eyes those bee's full trusting warm honey-coloured ensconced within sharply falling epicanthic folds watching without imposing but who knows how nostalgically
your fear of touching me with those toil-knotted fingers lest I recoil worn yet tender frail still strong from serving two husbands over half a century lest I inadvertently even make a gesture that might make you feel unlike someone of your highborn bridal glory

Once i was a prince in your eyes
my every wish granted
even before I could wish it
eevaa peerankal muuvaa maruntu

the hot kuul boiling complaining in the chemman earthenpot
your apparent fear that the nextdoor neighbour woman might begin her daily chant of your ancestors' drawbacks failings mishaps for fear that my still sheltered ears might tire of your village ways tire of the lack of other comforts running water showers toilets for fear that your native untutored tongue might sound too outlandish to my ears
your pain perpetually shrivelled between your brows notching your fine
flanking nose

Once you touched me
for I had not risen at the appointed hour for my ritual bath

[...] Read more

poem by T. Wignesan
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Mango

The king of all fruits
Mango is my favorite
Believe it or not
You are like a sweet mango
So don't let the worms eat you.

poem by Asif Andalib
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