Poetry

Moringa Tree

In the front yard of my house

a few years ago, I planted a drought-resistant moringa tree.

It grew faster with pride and pomp,

taller than my house, lordly looming into the sky

mightily spreading its wide boughs and dangling sticks in seasons

withstanding the many scorching summers and raging autumn rains.

I fed my body, mind, and spirit

with its sticks and leaves

but one evening, as I stepped out of my house

to reach the railway station to board the Chennai-bound train

a powerful wind blew, and this time

the heart of the tree was riven

with one push from the sky

that broke it in half

from its base and plummeted with a huge crash and roar

fracturing the compound wall and my heart.

All my years of tendering collapsed like a pack of dreams.

The brave old moringa

days after, however, resurrected afresh from the base

with tender green leaves shooting up, greeting me like stars

but sneering at the wind and the rain.