A Song 242

A holed soul in
a mango tree.
Catered every festival.
Best to die whole,
before it death doles,
they said,
slicing into folds
without a
check up,
a prayer,
a burial.

.....

fated?
did wiggles on
its trunk, say so?

.....

Twiddling twiddle,
Lady stared at
blank palms of
Old Man,
who began with lines
under Karuna banyan.
'Show me yours.'
Old Man blinked at
lanes of lines.
In May, a Mayness.