Tired Night Fruits

A tired apple sits in my steel plate
My plate with a raised edge so it won’t fall
Won’t fall at night be it early or late
Late for sometimes I do not eat at all
To eat at all seemed hard when last I ate
When last I ate a meal though it was small
It was a small fruit bowl with an orange
And a banana. The orange smelt strange.

Strange how I keep this apple by my side
My bedside table has these little snacks
These snacks that I make no attempt to hide
Why hide that life is slipping through the cracks
The cracks that invite wisecracks, comments snide
Snide remarks that some trains are off their tracks
These soundtracks of dementia play on loop
Some loopy people even want to snoop.

Snoop away, people, ask this apple why
Ask why it’s red and green and also yellow
Yellow in bits decaying by and by
And by the by rotting not growing mellow
Mellow is sweet not dented wrinkly dry
Dry rotting like it’s neighbour, a pomelo
Pomelo shriveling up from the outside
Outside it’s dry but overripe inside.

Beside these fruits bananas also lie
I’d lie if I said these are never eaten
Uneaten bananas don’t soon go dry
Not dry but soggy so if left uneaten
Uneaten bananas are said to die
To die they go to dustbins being beaten
By apples and pomelos not grown dark
Dark inner process not so quick and stark

Stark staring crazy leaving fruit so long
Long days and nights in symbolic safeguard
Safeguard against night hunger never strong
Not ever strong now dead a mere canard
A canard, rumour, hoax, and simply wrong
Wrong habits though we know often die hard.
Hard to let go the apple, old and tired
Tired old brains are truly weirdly wired.

Weirdly wired my brain finds meanings odd
Odd meanings after bawdy Baudelaire
Baudelaire whose flowers of evil prod
Prod tired mind in ways largely unfair
Unfair comparisons conclusions broad
Broad similarities to draw ensnare
Snare tired night fruits into double meanings
Meanings towards which I just have no leanings.

A tired apple is a tired apple
A tired grapefruit a soggy pomelo
Pomelo brain is in no mood to grapple
With double entendre or that bawdy fellow
That fellow Baudelaire or such like scrapple
Scrap scrapple and let tiredness turn mellow
Mellow unlike the fruit that’s slowly aging
In my steel plate while all these thoughts are raging

( ASA )

8 thoughts on “Tired Night Fruits

  1. Amita Paul

    Thank you for this generously worded analytical and enlightened comment on my simple effort, Louis Kasatkin. Much appreciated.

  2. Sweety Anoucheka Gangabissoon

    Wonderful immersion in the talented poet’s inner consciousness….a great play of words as well

  3. Pushmaotee Subrun

    Imagine how our brain can write so thoughtfully on fruits left lying ‘tired’… great imagination indeed!


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