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(26 Dec 1969, yet to kick the bucket. / Mahuva, Gujarat, India.)

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Ficus Religiosa

An old pipal tree, stands by the old sea port.
Leaves are all yellow, the bark wrinkled and cold.
It is no winter, warm and sunny,
It has lost its time, with it, thirst for honey.
It saw its days of buzz, when the port was a hive,
Ships made a bee line, there was fight for every bite.
People were a mad rush, cargoes bloomed and burst,
Now it's a forgotten dream, the ports skinny, and ships mean.
It is perhaps a people tree, yellow, lifeless, without thirst
Cast like debri, on the shores of spent time, by tides of trust.
Leaders have cast off to new ports of call,
People left rooted as trees on the blanks of minds walls.
An old pipal tree, stands by the old sea port,
Leaves are all yellow, the bark wrinkled and cold.

Submitted: Wednesday, February 13, 2013
Edited: Wednesday, February 13, 2013


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