In Season


One month from its yield the old mango sheds
aged leaves, wears shades of rust-green
and a crown tinged cream with flowering.

The afternoon sun sieves through the canopy,
slopes off the branches, distills on earth
slivers of light that quiver with winds.
Shade under the tree still remains dense
with fallen leaves and bird droppings.

Each rub of breeze disperses from flowers
a fine feathery dust. Air so pregnant
with a sweet-sour scent attracts greedy parrots.
They come and go, hop and fly,
peck on pedicles — drop bulbous buds.

The tree is used to their routing; it has fruited for years.
 
By Uma Asopa


Copyright © – Dr Uma Asopa