Ripened Mangoes

Ripened mangoes
Remind me of summer
Its long afternoons
Siestas under thin sheets
Whirling fans overhead.
Long midsummer afternoons
Remind me of childhood
Its golden sparkle
Story-tales being spun
Under leafy banyan trees.
Of dust—many feet kicking it up
As they played cricket.
Childhood, indeed
Reminds me of mangoes
Their sweet, warm smell
After long heavy meals with cousins.
There was always space
For just one more.
One more mango.
One more siesta.
One more, one last story.
One more childhood.

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