Mango Minded

Nirandra Sivakumar

Where she comes from, mangos hang in the breeze

Shining golden on sun-kissed trees. 

Their skins are rough, but look inside

And you may find stories of hope and pride. 

Too soon she was plucked, still bitter and raw

Just a child, leaving everything she saw – 

The husk of her voice and dust in her hair

Her family’s laughter and the warm village air. 

Oh, but time passed, ripening her soul, 

Softening her edges, making the broken pieces whole. 

She learned of a world, distant and new. 

Now with roots in both and torn between the two. 

Like a mango in a crate, sailing away

She carried her past through every day. 

Though it fades, the flavor remains. 

A taste of her home – of joys and pains. 

And when you peel back the skin, now tender and light, 

She shines like the sun or like gold in the light. 

She has walked and wandered on distant paths apart

But the mango still lingers like home in her heart.