That Indian Sweet Almond Tree

It stood magnificently in front of our Churchyard, Like the sacred fig tree before any temple-yard; My going to church, as a boy, had no other reason, Than picking all bird-dropped fruits, as a mission; Collecting as many as possible hastily, Pushing them into my knickers-pocket quietly; Thinking of them all through the Holy Mass, Waiting for the priest to say the final grace; Hurrying to a corner where no humans see, Place, as lonely as the very loneliness could be; Savouring the sour-sweet taste spread over it, Then breaking it with stones to get the nuts in it; Quantity of it equaled as little as a butter drip, Or as much as ten mustard seeds put as a strip; Relishing it as though nectar of ancient sages, Coming down to mine tongue from all the ages; In youth tastes changed and matters mattered, And this almond became very old fashioned; Burgers, Pizzas, hotdogs and all tasted well, Though, consuming them, I often was unwell; I saw boys and girls picking almonds as I did, And hurrying to corners and I understood; The ‘grown-up’ in me prohibited me from doing so, It’s hence I hid my child within, as a rainbow; Abroad, I almost forgot the Indian almond tree, As within me, I was bored and never really free; I had my worries of marriage and children, Who’d care for a tree with no monetary gain? It’s when I went to my home town casually, It’s under that tree I found my future lily; We married and got children who grew, Both with tastes so modern and new; Yet, it’s when once we visited the churchyard, My younger lingered over that fruit so thrilled; We offered him sweet almonds from stores, And supermarkets that made him to uproar; He collected for long as much as he could, And each little one he collected for him he hid; He too, later, had his dreams and worries, Sophistications seismically so seduce, seize; Church now demolished and grounds cleared, For newer one to construct all well renewed; I found this almond tree got fully uprooted, And thrown into a corner like an old harp muted; I cried and cried till I could cover the tears, As though I’d hidden my feelings for many years… 30 July 2021 Finding Your Muse Poetry Contest Sponsored by: Regina McIntosh