Doon Afternoon

Doon Afternoon short poem

Crisp eucalyptus leaves
Pale green, redolent with a spicy aroma
Some just shards of the palest beige
A fragrant carpet underfoot
With every step and every breath.

Perched on the branch
Of the lichee tree
Rough barked
Black ants tickling my arms
As they scurry away.
Glossy leaves
And the heavenly taste of unripe fruit
Achingly sour, sticky, delicious
A heavenly refuge from stifling afternoons.

Guavas, bright green,
Firm, but out of reach
Branches too fragile to climb
Close enough to pull down to my scrabbling fingers.

A bird bath on the lawn
Bird seeds scattered around the edges
While we crouch behind the hedge
As the fan tailed flycatcher
Alights in a flutter of graceful black and white.

Just memories of Doon afternoons?
Or a place my mind returns to
When city lights and sounds
Crowd my mind.

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Editorial Board

@Anjana_Dutt the charm of a small town never wears off and the little but profound memories captured by you in verse bring alive a sense of both nostalgia and homecoming. Charming piece of writing!

Jayshree Murali

what a homecoming – tickled my fruit palate. lovely.


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