Love Poem by Chhote Lal Khatri

LOVE
Indian Rishis loved living in caves
that we call hideouts today.
They either spoke in aphorisms
or tell through tales with spiky tails
that pierce straight to your head.

He begins: Once a poor peasant planted
sapling of a mango tree, watered it,
tended it as he tended his son.
It grew into a tall shady tree.
He spent his leisure under the tree
sharing his days' delight and duress.

For days he could not get work;
he turned to his tree with sullen face.
The tree poured sweet words and fruits.
Their friendship grew with growing rings in the trunk.
In winter his teeth were rattling in cold.
The tree asked him to cut its branches
and make fire. Winter passed warmly.
In monsoon the flood washed away his hut.
Grief-stricken he rushed to his friend
and asked ‘if he can cut its branches
and trunk to rebuild his hut.'
It felt pity for him
re-enacted Dadhichi's pledge.
The man still sat beside the stump in remorse
and wished it would grow again.
It was a harvest season;
and he didn't have a plough.
Very ruefully he returned to the stump,
‘Sorry friend, I seek you for a plough
or else we will die of hunger...'
The Love spoke, "In it lies my fulfillment."
Now there is no stump, no new tree;
but the peasant turns to it every day.
***