On a moonlit bough of a mango tree,
A tender bud stirred, wild and free.
No kiss of soil, no showered rain,
Yet life awoke, defying pain.
Behind the veil of noonday’s gleam,
A being bloomed, a silent dream.
Its dusky skin with wonder quivers,
As the universe within it shivers.
The mother bud breaks, in silent cries,
Like a womb that opens to new skies.
From the heart of this green, warm core,
Hope takes root, and dreams explore.
Before it sees the earth’s embrace,
Red shoots climb high in timeless grace.
Pressed and squeezed, it still ascends —
A sacred force that never bends.
And in the desert, when honey flows,
An almond tree in silence grows.
This poem breathes rebirth’s pure mirth.
