The five mango trees in the garden
bear hundreds of mangoes
each one has a different taste.
sweet, bitter sweet, bitter.
Alphonso, Grape, Malgoba .
Neelam stand tall with
branches spread wide. April
and May see the peak.
As the fruits are turning yellow
I plan to harvest them. Krishna,
my gardener, comes early to pluck
them with a netted fruit plucker.
He marches like a hero,
with a head gear dhoti tucked tight,
climbs balances on a broad
branch. One by one. I cry.
He brings them down carefully
arranges in a bamboo basket,
places the neem leaves over each layer
to facilitate ripening.
Krishna, complains, half of the produce
have been bitten. Squirrels and birds
play a havoc, Nodding, I say to myself
a quarter of them will be in your bag,
That is how it is!
Meenas Poems 