Once upon a time, there was a mango tree,
Which stood outside my window, high and mighty.
Every day I poked my nose out of the sill, just to see,
But its future and mine, I never did foresee.
It grew in a cosy corner of the neighbours’ backyard,
Under a blanket stitched from the comforting shade of brick walls.
Having just the right amount of sunlight to play with,
Slowly outgrowing space like old clothes which infants did.
Now it had spread its arms as far as the walls allowed,
Bobbing its head as the breeze’s songs gently played out.
Its leaves danced merrily in the rain,
While little fruits opened their eyes to become the world’s gain.
The breeze carried sweet letters from it through the balcony,
The soft scent of mangoes marked the arrival of summer for me.
When the calendar had endless holidays written all over,
Time to play outside in the sun like never before.
Seasons changed and years had passed,
The age of rhymes and once upon a time stories slipped past.
Shoulders dropped with bags full of books and responsibilities’ weight,
For the summer of life to arrive, is indeed a long wait.
My eyes found a new friend in a smartphone screen,
The neck only craned as wide as the TV while I turned eighteen.
There were online petitions to keep the world clean,
While I forgot all about my old tree friend in green.
One day I heard a loud thud outside,
There stood the same old brick walls,
But a fallen tree lay motionless beside.
The winters were harsh, they said.
I wondered how many summers had gone by with me not remembering it,
And all the little things that I took for granted.
It was April and the breeze bought letters of dry heat,
I wished if once again the mango tree could make my summer sweet.
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