In the heart of fields where sunlight gleams,
Stands a tamarind tree, lost in dreams.
Its canopy wide, a shady dome,
A haven for birds, a leafy home.
With branches twisted like tales of old,
And pods that dangle like earrings bold,
The tamarind whispers to wind and rain,
In tones of joy, in songs of pain.
Its fruits are vessels of taste and lore,
A sweet and sour delight to adore.
Brown brittle shells with pulp inside,
A tangy treasure, a nature’s pride.
Children gather beneath its shade,
With dusty feet and plans well-laid.
They shake the limbs, they climb with glee,
To taste the tang from the tamarind tree.
Oh tamarind, with ancient grace,
You hold the sun in your leafy embrace.
Your leaves are medicine, soft and small,
Healing hearts when illnesses call.
In village kitchens, pots bubble loud,
As tamarind joins the cooking crowd.
Its sour notes dance in chutney and stew,
Adding flavor where flavors are few.
Your roots go deep, your trunk is wise,
You touch the earth and greet the skies.
A storyteller with no tongue,
Whose songs through every breeze are sung.
In temple groves, you proudly stand,
Blessed by saints, by time, by land.
Your shade has cooled the monk’s warm brow,
You are the then, the here, the now.
So here I pen this humble praise,
To tamarind’s earthy, grounding ways.
A fruit of balance, bold and true,
With gifts of health in every hue.
Oh tamarind tree, in sun or storm,
You stay steadfast in every form.
A poem of nature, wild yet kind,
Rooted deep in every mind.
