Woman is like a mango
A girl is a mango infantile,
That tastes in pickles.
A lass is about ripe mango,
That tastes in curries.
A woman is a ripe mango,
That tastes with its flesh.
At forties as juice and at fifties
As jelly, she lingers to my taste.
Even in sixties, she is like mango-essence.
In seventies, as endosperm of its nut
She still taste though differently.
Woman to men is evergreen.
29.05.2001, Berhampur
poem by Rm. Shanmugam Chettiar

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Widow is as Fresh
Love that you experience with one now
Isn’t hampered by the love pursued elsewhere
As the taste of mango you experience
Is not impaired by the taste had earlier.
When you taste a mango in hand
You don’t recall the taste in the past.
Senses enjoy what is presented.
A widow acts as much a first wife.
poem by Rm. Shanmugam Chettiar

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Under The Mango Tree
i like the idea
of doing many things under the mango tree
like
watching time go by like it is a stranger
and i
am a stranger too watching time pass by
like i am so interested
with what time
can do to me
making me old
making the mango tree bloom and flower and have fruits
and they are so many
that the mango tree bends
to the ground
and time stays for a while and ripens the fruits
and make all of them
in time
fall one by one to the ground
like some kind
of withered flowers
luscious, sweet, fruits of the mango tree
falling
by the slightest passing of the wind
and then the children
come and with all joy
pick them one by one
putting what they can
under
their shirts and still rushing
to keep
and take some more
under the mango tree
all the people
are so much alike
the rushing, the taking, the joy
of always having more
and it will never stop
as i watch time slowly go by
poem by Ric S. Bastasa

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Mango
The king of all fruits
Mango is my favorite
Believe it or not
You are like a sweet mango
So don't let the worms eat you.
poem by Asif Andalib

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Fatso & His Lady!
That mango tree was no normal
It got immense love so mortal
From dawn to dusk he watered
Hoping it is never left shattered
Plucking the fruits in noon
He sat by it with all bloom.
That mango tree is no normal
It got immense love so mortal
What is it that brings that bloom
In this man so fat & hair so white
Was the thought that always rung
When I usually see him sing.
That mango tree is no normal
It got immense love so mortal
My lady love sowed this seed
& fed to it her life
I cried cried & I cried
And one day she grew up
Through ground & this is it
He told with a whisper.
That mango tree is no normal
It got immense love so immortal
Telling his tale of love
He had the last mango from it
He bore a smile on face
A tear in each eye
The seed in his palm.
That mango tree is no normal
It got immense love so mortal
Inspite of it being watered
Although I gave utmost care
In no time it became dry
And in air remained only their love……..
poem by BhanuPrakash Singh

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Doctor's Warnings
half of the mango.
that is all you can eat
and you do not like
it you take the whole
mango
and swallow.
a cup of rice.
hardheaded, you
take a bowl.
no coke. you
bought a bottle
and drink it all.
no sugar. no salt.
you are determined
to have some
and some more.
take death then
the doctor says
and you say
with all dignity:
thank you.
i love it.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa

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Your Sweet Taste
I am the first person to pluck the mango of your sweet love and,
I am the only person who understand you for what you are.
I am the first person to pluck the mango of your sweet love and,
I will always remember your black dread locks;
For you came alone like the King of Pop Music.
I will always remember your sweet taste and the love that we shared,
And the rings on our hands today are like the waterfalls.
They will always be a sign for us and,
I will always remember this sweet taste of yours forever.
poem by Edward Kofi Louis

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Fruits Of Action
I am not here to pluck the mango even
I assured my mother.
Always my mother used to tell me
Never eat the mango from the tree
You planted.
poem by Gajanan Mishra

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The Point That You Are Driving At
of all inanimate
you say you want to be a fruit
a mango
luscious, sweet, and
ripe
i know, your point is that
you are ready,
ripe for everything, an end
for itself,
and of all animate,
you say you simply want to be this
mosquito
of the female variety, one that sings
one that tells you
that life sucks
poem by Ric S. Bastasa

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Mango jokes
Aam Admi
Translated in to
Mango jokes
And mango is the
King of fruits
Be serious
While going to the king
And his darbar
Be serious
You elector
It is the day
Of your future
Think twice
Before voting
And vote for honest
One who is there
To serve you
For your welfare.
poem by Gajanan Mishra

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Boasting About Trees
There you stood among other trees
In a garden of legendary emeralds
Your luxuriant leaves waving to the heavens
You arresting branches kissing the sky
Honey cannot be compared to thee
You are my mango tree
My enraptured eyes are still swimming in bliss
From the first time they saw you
Untouched, unspoiled and unsurpassed
Flora of such sublime character
Honey cannot be compared to thee
You are my mango tree
My heart swims in the deluge of desire
Sweet songs of attraction, passion and fire
It is you that awakens my appetite
My dulcet cynosure
Honey cannot be compared to thee
You are my mango tree
Others may boast of oranges and apples
Grapes and pears and pomegranates too
I will be silent until I talk of you
And from my lips will dropp the words
Honey cannot be compared to thee
You are my mango tree
poem by Howard Simon

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The Sound Of Children
it is their sound that makes
this world lovable still
under the mango tree
when the wind starts to blow
when the ripe mangoes fall
to the ground and the children
starts to scramble for their
share of the ripe ones.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa

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Childhood Memories Are Always Green!
Our childhood memories are like
heavenly story,
Evergreen in every heart,
not bothering what one have,
Even piece of wood can be a car,
Or a stick can be a horse, Even a mat can be one's
aeroplane. When all pains were only
momentary,
All strains are happily forgotten,
Green will be that memory,
evergreen,
when that stone aimed at green mango,
Brought it down into dust,
And dust is rubbed against the
edge of shirt,
That sour mango
was sweet than any other! That first correct answer given to
how many fingers I have,
And that when mother said I am
correct in pointing at nose! When I learnt first to write zero,
Wonderful, it was wonderful,
how quick was I to write that!
Now all difficulties now I feel to
understand that zero encircling
all universe!
poem by Ramdas Bhandarkar

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The ripe pear
Quartering this ripe pear
- a knife-and-fork job; it gave little away
except a slight softness around the stalk,
yet seems to contain more juice than
any work of man could hold -
quartering this ripe pear,
I'm caught up in wonder:
this is almost too good for human beings -
it should have a religion built around its praise;
as if it wishes to tell us something
that we might have overlooked
about such mouth-worn phrases as
Nature's bounty and God's grace..
or as if, two thousand years ago,
it had leaned, heavy on its branch,
from the wall of Plato's leafy Academy,
saw him writing of ideals,
and smiled;
and now I've written that,
I can eat this pear,
tasting it and what I've written;
this pear, I swear,
now tastes even better;
as if I had submitted
on some altar, to be consumed by praise;
praise that tastes of pear; pear that tastes of praise.
poem by Michael Shepherd

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Kajura
My love for you is like the big mango tree in my compound,
Upon which sits the monkey to look at you;
But i will follow you to Hew Guinea!
Of fowls, ducks, goats ans sheep to play in this compound;
And it is like the rice and chicken that you love to eat,
But we will sleep well under this mosquito net of love.
Don't worry my love,
For the centre of my compound is this mango tree!
And we should take life as it is around us,
For my love for you is like the big mango tree in my compound.
You and i have to accept this chronology and,
There is a place for us to sit and drink at times;
So come and drink a bottle of whisky with me tonight.
Kajura my love,
I want to tell you more about myself and more about life!
But the myth of love is all that hangs arouns us,
And i am the leader around here to lead you on.
poem by Edward Kofi Louis

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He That Tastes Woman
Man may escape from rope and gun;
Nay, some have out-liv'd the doctor's pill;
Who takes a woman must be undone,
That basilisk is sure to kill.
The fly that sips treacle is lost in the sweets,
So he that tastes woman, woman, woman,
He that tastes woman, ruin meets.
A cripple ant near a Mango tree
I have heard about the tasty fruit when it ripens
and the legend says lightning won't peep to your premises
if you grow a mango tree in your yard,
But I am very unhappy as I cannot climb on my neighbour's tree.
* I humbly dedicate this poem to the authoress of the novel 'The House on Mango street' written by Sandra.Cisneros.
poem by Nimal Dunuhinga

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Liar, liar...
when the sweet sap of
the sugar cane is gone
when the salt does not
taste salt at all
when the vinegar loses
its prized acidity
the raw mango its sourness
the pork its oil and
the rice its gluten
when essence is gone
when you say that it is this
essence that precedes
existence
then tell me what happens next?
i know what to do.I know.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa

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Last Mango In Paris
Last mango in paris
By: jimmy buffett, marshall chapman, will jennings, michael utley
1985
"for all the living legends i've had the pleasure to know. there's
Still so much to be done."
I went down to captain tony's
To get out of the heat
Then i heard a voice call out to me
"son come have a seat"
I had to search my memory
As i looked into those eyes
Our lives change like the weather
But a legend never dies
Chorus:
He said i ate the last mango in paris
Took the last plane out of saigon
Took the first fast boat to china
And jimmy there's still so much to be done
I had a third world girl in buzios
With a pistol in each hand
She always kept me covered
As we moved from land to land
I had a damn good run on wall street
With my high fashion model wife
I woke up dry beneath the african sky
Just me and my swiss army knife
Chorus:
I ate the last mango in paris
Took the last plane out of saigon
Took the first fast boat to china
And jimmy there's still so much to be done
We shot the breeze for hours
As the sun fell from the sky
And like the sun he disappeared
Before my very eyes
It was somewhere past dark-thirty
And i went back to the head
I read upon the dingy wall
The words the old man said:
I ate the last mango in paris
Took the last plane out of saigon
Took the first fast boat to china
And jimmy there's still so much to be done
I ate the last mango in paris
Took the last plane out of saigon
Took the first fast boat to china
And jimmy there's still so much to be done
That's why we wander and follow la vie dansante
- notes:
Background vocals: timothy b. schmit
song performed by by Jimmy Buffett

Submitted by Lucian Velea
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A Mangoo
Mangos sesion
Mango was
Cloudy of
Shops....
Rain rain...
To hot summer...
Mango...mangoo...
Rain rain...
On summer hot...
Too sweet...
With out cold....
poem by Otteri Selvakumar

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Marilyn
I am dark and lovely,
And i live under a sweet mango tree with my muse;
I am bold and beautiful,
So come and taste some of the fruits of my love;
Like a walk through the markets of Thailand.
I am sweet and attractive,
Living closer to you with the muse of my love;
I am dark and lovely,
So come to me like a walk through the markets of Thailand!
For the sun shines on me under this mango tree.
poem by Edward Kofi Louis

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