At that corner of a street stands a rugged tamarind tree
He can never be happy; he is always angry.
He's growing old, his joints, knobs hard and stiff
In protest he shakes his head, his leaves drying as constantly miffed.
They scale out his skin engraving names and embossing love
He looks ugly with scars and wounds from within and from above.
They would come to take rest under his shade for a while
and spit betel nut and tobacco leaf on him with a callous smile.
As if all those spitting sputtering stain on him isn’t enough
Casually throwing a banana peel at him, they would go away in a huff.
In a sleepy afternoon those naughty children would come
And throw stones aiming his tamarinds just to stay out of boredom.
On a busy morning in a hurry and flurry they would pass
flinging those cigarette stubs on him, to catch the bus they would rush.
That is why the rugged tamarind tree is never happy
He is always dismayed, and he is ever angry!
