Posted by: Ron DuBour | April 23, 2016

CUSTARD APPLE~by Indira Sadanandan




I am telling you a true story.
An old man lived alone in a house
He cooked for him,served himself
Gave nothing to the hungry,
Not to birds,dogs or to a kitten.
A man dwarf with half cut beard ,with
Droopy mustache ,
Brown in colour.
A custard apple grew up in his
Backyard,near the foot path.
Getting lavish rain and sunshine
It grew up fast.
The middle aged was happy.
Blossoms came out,
Then the petals shed
Small small fruits appeared,ripened,
Full of fruits.
Birds came,ate to full stomach
Ants ate the left overs from the ground
Small children on their way home
From the school plucked the ripe fruits
And ran away.
One fine morning,the short fellow
Took an axe and cut down the tree
Fruits were all scattered on the floor,slowly
The tree became a memory in the minds
Of the School children.

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