4. My Grandfather Raspberry Tree
There was a raspberry tree behind
our tea estate residential quarters. I name it raspberry because there is no
other name known to me for this unique fruit tree. Like my grandfather, that
raspberry tree loved me as long as it lived and now it is no more. I cherish its
fond memories in the deepest of my heart.
The Unique Love
That raspberry tree outside our tea
estate quarter,
It had long sweet fruits like the fingers of a caressing mother.
It had branches strong and steady like my father’s shoulders
Under its shade many a childhood games long I played,
And often climbed its branches, hummed and swayed.
It always welcomed me with open arms like my grandfather,
It regaled me with funny folk tales like my talkative grandmother.
It was my companion of many of my lonely moments under
It was a loving uncle ever ready with juice-filled gifts.
I enjoyed the raspberries sometimes with chilli and salt
And sometimes I chomped them straight without a halt
.
Years have passed many, my brother Arvind lives in the quarter
With his wife and children three, shadows of mine they are
But they don’t have the shade of the raspberry grandfather.
Whenever I visit my brother I walk behind the quarter yore
To meet my raspberry grandfather who is there no more.
Only a dry stump marks that spot where he stood guard
Like a gravestone in some faraway untended graveyard.
It had long sweet fruits like the fingers of a caressing mother.
It had branches strong and steady like my father’s shoulders
Under its shade many a childhood games long I played,
And often climbed its branches, hummed and swayed.
It always welcomed me with open arms like my grandfather,
It regaled me with funny folk tales like my talkative grandmother.
It was my companion of many of my lonely moments under
It was a loving uncle ever ready with juice-filled gifts.
I enjoyed the raspberries sometimes with chilli and salt
And sometimes I chomped them straight without a halt
.
Years have passed many, my brother Arvind lives in the quarter
With his wife and children three, shadows of mine they are
But they don’t have the shade of the raspberry grandfather.
Whenever I visit my brother I walk behind the quarter yore
To meet my raspberry grandfather who is there no more.
Only a dry stump marks that spot where he stood guard
Like a gravestone in some faraway untended graveyard.
Posted in Wikinut
November 8, 2013
Xavier Bage
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