We would worry about tree.
Slum kids mocked no birds.
It lost words from its mouth.
The birds looked elsewhere.
Gardener was grateful man.
He had words for the winter,
Less autumn leaves to rake.
The crows were all exposed.
You saw white inner bodies
Below the wet black feathers
Under a tongue lashing rain.
We would look up a blue sky
To find silver fish swim in it
And no more leaves between.
We worry less about the tree.
Slum kids mocked elsewhere.
Busy big red ants crawl on tree.
Mango’s leaves are busy falling.
Some have ant-homes hanging
Below them looking like bowls.
Some ants are red , some dead.
The mango is busy cooking up
Cuckoo schemes for a next rain.
Boys are busy planning mangoes
With salt and chilly,for summer.
The bowl shaped homes are busy
Falling off from below the leaves.
The leaves are busy turning dust.
Almond , almond , you are a light
Around God’s son in old painting.
Now in Diwali you are my eating,
A fixated body to float away from.
Your inside makes me mind sharp.
Your outside is a partly bird eaten.
You are marooned in fallen leaves
And tiny stones floating in the sun.
Almond , almond , why do you fall
When birds have stomach cramps?
Almond, almond, why are you light
When there are no more painters?
Almond,almond is there God’s son
In Mandorla light ,almond shaped?
Are minds almond sharp over milk
When a moon is partly bird eaten?