The Cashew Tree Poem by Hell 'Farya

I ask you a question, and you have answered me not. I asked 'as we sought to forge a new identity in this world, as we strive to make a mark, what is that essential part of our soul that we are willing to sacrifice? '

Under the cashew tree,
By the yard, I lay on her bosom
Her shade hovers above my head
Mom,
In protection and safe from all eyes
I stared at her bark and she danced gently
Her fallen leaves rest gently upon my temple.

But years have gone by since I left home
To be a man of my own, I treaded with hope
I walked where mighty serpents lurks
Mom,
Days when all that stood me up was her
Thrown out of my own rag and stood up
Never weary, I pressed on and even higher.

Now I stood to the applause of thousands
Tie fastened by one and belt by another
No one will speak when I have not spoken
Mom,
What I have become is a miracle unattainable
I who awaits permission now gives one
But not one day have I remembered my root

The cashew tree grew old and weary
Yet still bore enough fruit for the mouth
By the yard it stood, seeking me in every travellers
Mom,
Hoping one day, I shall soon return to it
With my head once more pressed on your bosom
Sorry, but son has since forgotten his way home.