In his prime, he was so alive, green and tall – as much as a sugar palm could be. He bore the sweetest of fruits. He was loved, cared and even counted as a part of the family. Once he died, the farmer made a boat out of him. He was a good boat, swaying from one field to another, in shallow water. Yet, today no one looks at him. In the days of summer, he is of no use. He waits at the end of the field and no one takes notice.
A sun-parched palm
lies in a lifeless torpor –
waiting for the torrents.
He waits for the days of summer to pass. Come monsoon, he will revive again.
I had taken this photo a few years back near a low land famous for cultivation of different crops in different seasons – where trunk of palm trees are used as sort of canoes in shallow water. This is the tree I am talking about. This is my first Haiban ever, written for Toni‘s prompt on Dversepoets today – where she has asked us to write poetic thoughts on dog day – days of extreme summer. Door open at 3 PM EST. Join us to read some wonderful poetry.