The tamarind tree
and the old woman, make an
aged couple who look alike,
rough skin, deep roots
thin branches devoid of fruit
with wooden knots and varicosities
In the little shade
the tamarind tree can provide
she knits silently
with her needles and weak eyes,
courses and wales like
the vagaries of life
once even they were children
who played with pebbles
and recited rhymes with
the birds and wind,
they became soulmates
with their first tamarind
and the tamarind tree heard patiently
her infant fantasies
her first love
her first moan
her furtive affairs
no one else could have known
later they discussed
marriages and funerals
and with the little wisdom
that they could gather
they shared the secrets of their
wrinkles together
Now that they are
grumpy and old
the tamarind tree
wishes their story be told
from a flute crafted
of its branch
and their duet when
sung in the evening hour
on the melody of the woodwind
would leave a taste
like their first tamarind
a little sweet, a little sour
