Asit Kumar Sanyal
Jackfruit - Poem by Asit Kumar Sanyal
I planted a Jackfruit sapling,
The tree of Indian sub-continent
Following 5000 years old tradition
It became a tree,
The biggest attractive tree of my garden
About thirty meter high
With countless branches
It's the national fruit of Bangladesh
And ‘poor's fruit' in India
I call it ‘Kathal' in Bengali
When my tree gave fruits
And tested ripe one for first time
I discovered it as ‘Moja Kathal'
Not the ‘Khaja' one.
The tree gives me nearly 500 kathal
In season, every year
I start eating from small green fruits
It's very tasty
And substitute of mutton
It's nick name ‘tree-goat'
The lovers call it ‘vegetable mutton'
It's costly, I earn thousands from it
When It's ripe
Its skin becomes soft
Interior bulbs turn into orange-yellow
I have it as fruit, daily
Give it to my neighbours, free of cost
It's sweet, delicious, flavored
People appreciate my kathal from distance
I consume it with rice, roti, chira, Muri
Condense its juice into rubbery delectable
And enjoy as candy, ice-cream too.
My jackfruits oval shaped
Its seeds too,
Seeds comparable to chestnuts
Have milky, sweet taste …
I boil, roast
And eat with salt, chilli as snax
Also dry it and preserve
For using in rainy season
When green vegetables become costly
It's rich in energy, minerals and vitamins
Free from saturated fats, cholesterol
It's largest tree-borne fruit
Good substitute for rice, wheat, corn
Scientists call it ‘rice fruit'
And can save millions of people from hunger
Under threat from climate change
One of its fleshy bulbs provides 10 calories.
Have simple sugar like fructose, sucrose
Rich in dietary fiber
And contains Vitamin-A, B, C
Also B-6, B-Complex,
Potassium, calcium, magnesium
And protects people
From cancer of colon, lung, oral cavity
Controls heart rate, blood pressure.
I love jackfruit
My wife too.
Comments about Jackfruit by Asit Kumar Sanyal
Read this poem in other languages
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
Still I Rise
The Road Not Taken
If You Forget Me
Edgar Allan Poe
Stopping By Woods On A Snowy Evening
Do Not Stand At My Grave And Weep
Mary Elizabeth Frye