It has been a long time
my tree yielded fruits
they be yellow in a way
not very bright nor dull
a chaste colour on the skin
round they were in shape
neither too big nor too small
a pictorial effect they released
the yellow on the green background
the tree not so tall and big
modest and stylish on the twig
the lemon has such fragrance
filled the air with a flair
reluctant to pluck them asunder
stood there almost in a trance
if left on the tree all the more
would dry up and fall down
there be no use whatsoever
took them in the basket
caressed them with love altogether
soon they would be squeezes for juice
cut into halves and fours for pickle
the skin would lay in the trash
years ago the cut pieces of the skin
lay in the sun for days together.
powdered and sieved by my mother
used in daily bath instead of soap
a nourisher to skin lending a glow
a cleanser to the hair
turning it bright and glowing
Well, I have strayed away
from the tree to the powder
that be my way all these days
from one to other I jump
not focused and never attentive
to the script and to the points
What, a being I am !
