Another day beneath its shadow.
I lick my lips
as the fragrance of the pods is now a taste.
Not ripe enough
far away from the ground
Someone has cut off the lower branches
and the tree looks like an amputated warrior
proud among the other trees.
I touch its rough skin
thick and splitting
with slugs camping inside its moist layers
cozy at home
huddled against each other.
come once in a while
if the long husks are ripe enough
brown and bursting with crunched brown rocks.
They tug at the young buds
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
of the self.
poem and image ©Malintha Perera 2015