I am a ripe mango ready to fall my dad says
each afternoon whenever I make it a point to visit him,
this life sullen as a cone that has had its fill
drips and we hang on with our mouthful.
Delicious is the taste of dasheri on his worn-out lips.
I am often taken in by the toothless smile ready to curl
as I count the Sundays we have spent together
Sundays he loves to hold a durbar with his son’s progeny
They treat his ancient visage with faint humour.
It runs in the family. Believe me it is his voice
Brazen and sharp, very youthful that can match his grace.
And the rest of us are put to shame.
(First published in December Poems 2012)
dasheri - one variety of mango.
Ref -Whispers In The Wind