The Coconut Tree

The magic of my childhood days, I see thru the filigree works Of your green pointed leaves. The mild-yellow light which you Bore from the sun was the first Ray I used to catch early in The morning in our yard. The fragrance of the flowers, Still I can remember with the light. The busy crows with their nestlings Crowd in my mind simultaneously. Old Lucas, our gardener told me that Your shadow acts like clock. When it was midday, taking a stick, He once showed me your noon-shadow. Our holidays became special thus. And, in the afternoon, the last ray Of the departing sun shone on the Tips of your every leaf created A golden spark around. At night, the moon poured The silver drops on your droopy-leaves. We sleep, the yard sleeps, you sleep.... On our sleeping roof-top your Shadow played with the vague light. Your magic went on. Even now, it's still on, In my mind's mind, in my subconscious zone, In my soul, On and on.