Tree

“My greens turn yellow

As some of my family

We fall and get carried away

somewhere in the garden

We are there…”

Tenacious little petiole

Held together, what once

Was a charming leaf

That fell off into my arm

The same afternoon, I chose to sit under its tree

Reminiscing one particular day from childhood

Where I fell down with a cup of ice cream

And my father called it my tree.

Copyright© 2018 Deeya Nayar-Nambiar

 

 

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