It stood against the garden wall
Cutting off the empty plot next door
Pale brown, speckled with white
Light green leaves, darker green fruit
Brightening as they grew to ripeness
I learnt to climb on that tree
(My mother led the way!)
One foot on the truncated arm
Of the neigbouring custard apple
The scramble on to the ever flaking grey perimeter
Then finally atop its convenient branch
To sit, to lean, to read
To peer out at the lane outside
Gulmohar shaded, mostly quiet
But for the light bustle of the evening
Its gone now, but evergreen
The stuff of memories, familiarity, home
Even under the canopy of mango leaves
Dripping with rain
Years away in the monsoon forest
