Under the Tamarind Tree

Another day beneath its shadow.
I lick my lips
as the fragrance of the pods is now a taste.
Not ripe enough
they hang
pale green
far away from the ground
like baits
hypnotizing me.

Someone has cut off the lower branches
and the tree looks like an amputated warrior
proud among the other trees.

The bark
I touch its rough skin
thick and splitting
with slugs camping inside its moist layers
cozy at home
huddled against each other.

Even Munias
come once in a while
to sniff
if the long husks are ripe enough
brown and bursting with crunched brown rocks.

They tug at the young buds
impatiently
and I know how they crave
as I crave now
for that urge to bite into the glossy happiness
its pulp melting the walls of sorrow
until tears form
sliding off
emptying
the essence
of the self.

poem and image ©Malintha Perera 2015

 

tamarind

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