“My greens turn yellow
As some of my family
We fall and get carried away
somewhere in the garden
We are there…”
Tenacious little petiole
Held together, what once
Was a charming leaf
That fell off into my arm
The same afternoon, I chose to sit under its tree
Reminiscing one particular day from childhood
Where I fell down with a cup of ice cream
And my father called it my tree.
Copyright© 2018 Deeya Nayar-Nambiar
