“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