After school, I used to climb at home
the one and only custard apple tree;
(our house was lonelier all day
and so all mine to do whatever I liked)
its gnarled head - an umbrella
over our corrugated tin-roof. I was
then so good that even birds pecked
at apples ripe and red as I quick-
savoured one or two, forgetting
harsh beatings at school and trying
to be real calm in the cool. The monkey
that I was now becomes a tough guy.
That house's no more a place to live in,
everything's gone, even that tree's green
against the saffron west. But in me,
all of you can still find it greening up.
Sofiul Azam
http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/custard-apples/
