It must be felled, declared my dad,
And for a brief moment, I stopped in time.
Cut the jack fruit tree, that stood for me,
Since childhood came, now eternity.
Its cracking the water pipe, that runs beneath,
And thrice this year, the roots dug their teeth.
The leaves of the trees, often clog the drains,
It’s worse than hell, every year when it rains.
The roots have cracked the hard paving
That surrounds it, and so the moles,
And rats that thrive, do have a ball.
The jack fruits too, are far and few,
And those that grow are very slow,
More often than not, they die at birth,
The few who remain, do strangely rot.
Will all these reasons, my parents agreed,
It‘s inevitable, that it should be gone.
I ate silently, and thought of the tree,
It stood so proud, so bold and free.
My father urged, to type the letter,
That it may be felled, to the authority.
I know it will be gone, the next time I come,
With no one to mourn, just me and the sun.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
It is a painting with words. Love the rhythm in your poems.