Tree

“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

 

 

Published by Deeya Nambiar

I believe in taking every day as a learning phase, and exploring my writing skills. I have enjoyed the challenges as a journalist, content writer and college lecturer, and at the moment am living life analysing the extraordinary in the ordinary!

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