The Last Few Leaves

[Somewhere in this vast city of Bombay, lies a street- running parallel to the railway track near Grant Road station. It is a quiet, peace-loving neighbourhood, away from the dirt and grime of vehicular traffic.
Towards the Tardeo end of the street, almost hidden from view, is a tree: a drumstick tree that's truly magical..]

When I wake up every morning,
The first things that I see
Are the leaves- the lush green leaves
Of a drumstick tree.

It has been there at that same spot,
Ever since I’ve known;
Under each other’s watchful eyes,
We both up have grown.

The tree was there, I remember, when
I first, my bike, did ride;
And every game of hide-and-seek,
Behind the tree, I’d hide.

The tree, it served as a football post,
When the leaves, they turned to chrome;
Below it, we would sit and chat,
‘Til ‘twas time to go back home.

The tree, it has been privy to many a
Childhood conspiracy;
And though we went and told the others,
It maintained its secrecy.

The drumstick tree, it knew it when I
Had my very first crush;
And during the heat of that first kiss, it
Blew down a cooling gush!

The drumstick tree was always there, when I wanted
Company to study,
To collect my thoughts, or read a book,
Or write my poetry.
_

I could not see the drumstick tree, when I
Woke up on this day:
The tree’s still there- it’s not been chopped-
It’s me who’s moved away.

The trees outside my house now have
Such colourful flowers and fruits;
Yet, I think of the drumstick tree,
For that’s where lie my roots.