color of oranges
on my nails
strawberry on lips
I long for mangoes
from a childhood tongue
frozen mango pulp
is heavenly
till I think
what the fruit undergoes
being beaten to pulp
kept in sub-zero temperatures
to serve another
in cold, unfamiliar climes
(Yesterday, he said
At your age
You should only think
about teaching
Power corridors
are forever lost)
The mango pulp
Is a little like me
crushed, processed
freshness lost
past spring and summer
meant to serve others
It perhaps laments loss
of its life in orchards
under the golden sun
listening to kids’ laughter
watching their stained lips
Those stains are so unlike
the oranges on my nails
strawberries on my lip
I pay respect to the mango
make a warm pudding
sweetness and fragrance
pervading my senses
both of us dwell in the past
write stories
which will never be read
it’s not really sad
just that
We are past our prime
mature, accepting of fate
not mad…
A strong parallel between the life of the mango and the speaker of the poem. Well done. The yearning for the past is palpable. I do believe we should not let another tell us we can’t do more in life, love, career or anything else.
👏👏👏
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With age comes maturity and we all tend to accept what we get.
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The acceptance is what we need to fight against to. move ahead.
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I love how you’ve put strong nostalgic vibes in here. Why should people tell us what we can or cannot do.
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The corporate world is telling us that 😂
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They are but we shouldn’t listen.
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👍
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👍🏽👍🏽👍🏽
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Reena, what a beautiful commune with the mango. So creative.
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Thank you so much, Lisa!
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You’re very welcome.
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I love the metaphor… there is something special about personification that really is great.
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Thanks a ton, Bjorn!
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The lament of the aging mango was a great read! Condolences.
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Thanks 😂
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A strong parallel between the life of the mango and the speaker of the poem. Well done. The yearning for the past is palpable. I do believe we should not let another tell us we can’t do more in life, love, career or anything else.
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Agree that we should continue moving at our own pace. Thank you, Mish!
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This poetry speaks of a woman NOT past her prime! Well done ….
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Thanks for the interpretation, Helen!
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