After school, I used to climb at home <br />the one and only custard apple tree; <br />(our house was lonelier all day <br /> <br />and so all mine to do whatever I liked) <br />its gnarled head - an umbrella <br />over our corrugated tin-roof. I was <br /> <br />then so good that even birds pecked <br />at apples ripe and red as I quick- <br />savoured one or two, forgetting <br /> <br />harsh beatings at school and trying <br />to be real calm in the cool. The monkey <br />that I was now becomes a tough guy. <br /> <br />That house's no more a place to live in, <br />everything's gone, even that tree's green <br />against the saffron west. But in me, <br /> <br />all of you can still find it greening up.<br /><br />Sofiul Azam<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/custard-apples/
