I am from a rooftop garden
That smell like fresh guavas
And hard, wired fences
Behind which lies a foggy skyline
A dreaming city

I am from a small, brown-red backyard shed
Tucked between rural green fields
Where two little girls defended the world from evil by
Laughing and swinging wildly on a rusted, fluorescent swing set

I am from a row of townhouses
Where no matter how late the return
Warm lights inside glow
Beckoning  

I am from strong rocks
Against which foamy, icy waves crash
Leaving behind grass
Soft to touch  
And hard to uproot

I am from eating overdone fried chicken
From short-lived patience
From a voicemail
That will always say
From Lucy, Tulu and Samah

From don’t eat that, it’s for the guests
And if you have to do it, do it, but I don’t want to hear about it.  

From too many whys
And not enough faith

I am from Dhaka, Bangladesh
From jostling crowds and hearing a million voices outside

I am from Limerick, Ireland.
From rustic houses and quaint parishes

I am from Wallingford, Pennsylvania
From suburbia and inane boredom

From the college-genius who crashed weddings on weekends,
The woman who is still unimpressed by sushi in Japan

I am from feeling sad if you do
But wanting to make you laugh anyway

When there were no T.V's or cell phones,
When the sky was sequined with stars.
After dinner,family members and neighbours would gather outside on stone benches and chairs,
News and gossip would be shared with keen interest......
Whose wife ran away with whom,
Who delivered a baby,
Who was getting married.
Songs from the latest movie would be sung,
Stories and anecdotes  related,
It was fun.
We shared one apple and drank from the same bottle,
Are  fruits like mangoes and guavas from the fruitcarts without washing them,
Nothing happened to us.
We never went to a playground,
We played football,cricket, marbles, seven stones  and other games on the streets,
And if broke a window, we would run for our life.
We just popped in at our friends' house and shared their food,ate what was cooking in the kitchen,opened their fridges,
No formalities,
You didn't need a nanny to look after your children,
Extended family and neighbours helped out.
Everybody called the grandparents dadi or dadu,
The whole neighbourhood was one big happy family,
Those were the times.

fireworks sparkle
the darkened sky of my memory,
sparkling through my soul in a pleasant wave,
uncovering a walk in the jungle of my heartland

and a guava tree.

I’m in my kitchen, filling my nose
with the delicate scent of ripening guavas from Mexico,
palmed in the chalice of my hands,
feeling my way to that jungle walk with my family when I was three
or maybe two, in Hawai’i

and the guava tree.

as I bite through the fragile skin of the yellow globe,
the seeds, like BBs, take me further into my remembrance,
my family around me sharing
the excitement and joy I felt when I saw and climbed

the guava tree.

after we moved back to the Mainland
to a desert paradise I also loved,
each Spring I came down with what I called my Island Virus:
a deep yearning and homesickness
for my heartland

and the guava tree.


c. 2017 Roberta Compton Rainwater

♪♫♫♪♫

running fluid, flowing
like love, like life, like blood, like knowing
the living waters from the  throne of God –
it starts slow and it builds
equatorial storms, tropical sadness
as the guitars take you home
in reverberations of eternity
through endless repetitions of longing
through palm-branched alleys and red-dirt gullies
breeze caressing guavas and passion-fruit
past dictators’ mansions
past rusting shantytowns
over ditches running with sewage
into colors too intense to bear
colors to make you cry:
greens unseen in cold climates,
red earth, flowering jacarandas
women walking wrapped in rainbows
huge baskets on their heads
in the blare of traffic
in the madness of African cities
through the Congolese night that calls your name
and the smell of poor people’s food over cook fires
carried on the musical breeze
children smile and beggars crawl in the dust of the street
obscure wars are fought,  false peace proclaimed
while the bones are exhumed
as the Congo jazz rolls on, flows on
like silver sorrow dancing gold in the heart of darkness
past liter bottles of beer sweating cold
on the bar table by the flower’s starkness
lighting up the midday – when those horns come in
on the boat from Cuba, by way of Bruxelles and Paris
blaring triumphant and strong
like a shipment of diamonds and uranium
glittering in the drunken afternoon of a song with no end.

Jumping fences, cozzie on,
towel for a cape:
dives, strokes, somersaults;
doing the pool waltz.
Slurping wormy guavas;
Spinning monkey swings,
Your stories giving me wings:
You said I could fly,
If I Believe,
If I have Faith,
in the Unseen.

Ice-cream seconds, cakes, fizzy drinks;
A shake of the biscuit tin:
"one for each hand, maybe two"
Sugar, your only sin.
Paint. Wood. Leather.
Freshly cut grass.
A pun or ten,
just for fun:
Always the teasing jester.

A dreamer.
Deep talks under sprawling trees.
Hours upon your knees:
in play, in prayer, in Earth's work.
A giver to the faithless, hopeless, unheard.
A believer in love, truth and His word.

What a human.
What a man.
What a legend of my heart.
Gone but never far apart:
I still hear you laugh,
at peace now with your man, God.

Gather your books, your notebooks, your pages and pages
Barely legible Catholic school cursive, oil crusted papers
Coffee stains, cheese danish crumbs, ink marks on your thighs

Use your mother’s brain, your father’s tireless oxen energy
Your sister’s bravery, your grandmother’s mix of mango & tajin,
Your grandfather’s home grown guavas from the rooftop gardens
You come from a legacy, a star doesn’t explode in isolation

At my funeral play Jamila, play Nitty, NoName,
Rihanna, SZA, Mahlia, Kamaiyah, MIA, Nina,
Light a votive in the shape of Beyonce and baby Blue
Sing your blues, the chorus never sounded this good

seasons cycle forth
leaves are changing their color
big yellow fruit fall
guavas are early this year
they probably miss her too

I can’t remember Spring
can’t remember a cold May morning
with overcast skies
in the land of endless summer
roses bloomed in winter
guavas ripened in February
but I haven‘t heard the wrens
chirping and twittering
since we cut down the lemon tree
or the mocking birds
that used to nest there
seasons still turn
in changing climate’s confusion
but where have the blue jays
and butterflies gone?
the banana tree still grows
the native sweet potatoes spread
but it seems there were always flowers
and I miss the scent of night jasmine
the gardens have withered and browned
without her tender care

A shot of mauve and iridescent green caught my eyes ‘a dragonfly danced on the edge of the falling water.
My fingers dug into the soft delicate moss growing beside me as I stood naked my body pressed back against the smooth worn rock.

A warm breeze fought to caress my skin like exquisite silk, cool crisp water slithered down my freshly hot oiled coconut skin dancing and sparkling into yin mists that perfumed the air, tiny rainbow suns burst into stars and bounced off into cascading waters below.

Beautiful emerald shadows like Balinese painted ritual dancers played in the corners of my eyes, the spirits of the forest were alive and the leaves played their music rustling in the tropical breeze, above the waterfalls symphony played beautifully down on me

── my gaze ever wanton.

Brilliant hibiscus flowers were exploding into purples, orange, yellow and sweet creams fading to pink dusk island dreams that flowed all about me, my mind tasted luscious heat dew from sweet blood red oranges in clusters that hung low on branches, and ripe swollen Guavas fallen left fruit in rotting, pungent sweetness filled my nose rising from rich soil beds.

Bright butterflies were prancing on giant flowers, as though unknown souls of the past still played here. Delicate webs weaved and flowed as I gazed upward into the emerald canopy, silk strands struck red glittered in fine sun rays furrowing a haste of gold and silver as topical spiders weaved wearing the mark of poison.

Pomegranate and caramel coconut memories filled my mind, as I drifted picturing his face, enchanted lips that whispered incantations and rasp his tongue captures me in passions everlasting pulse.
My nails dug deeper into the mosses and the water continued to rush over me quelling the fire within, cooling, caressing slowly closing my eyes I could see,

── I could taste, I dreamt only in his mind.

He smelt of sandalwood, patchouli ash and cedar, I shifted back closer to the coolness of the rock pressing my cheeks harder against the smoothness, his eyes loomed before me cocoa brown haunted paradise. Each tasting of him caressed my veins, I became his fruit, my heart rapt in succession as pomegranate juice filled my mouth.

Yearning I burned for him glowing and the forest chanted in ceremony the ritual had begun, sentences filled the air as though written by constellations and I his, a silver star in quiver.
He whispered softly, “Come, I call to thee take of the day I conjure by night, your adornment and paradise our fleshes emerald by moon light are worn as one.”

──He sits gazing, his coat shimmering sable shot by nights obsidian, pearled teeth bared in paradises hunger, it is dawn evermore among the night trees. He gleans silently watching and waiting.....

© Arnay Rumens (ASPAR) 2016

Joys are mellow guavas
That fall into
The passionately waiting palms
Of a child
After his friend
Hits that
With a slender piece of wood
And instead of one
He gets two

The darkest hour is before dawn
The knees are weak
Like over ripe guavas hope falls
No rainbow in the eye of the storm
No glimpse of hope to derive courage from
High waves and tides as the seas foam

Calmness is a distant memory
If this is a love song
Why should it be so painful?
Cupid must be stupid!
A myth to be forgotten
The past belong to the past

I can smell the aroma of change!
The rays of a new dawn
A new era
New memories are about to knock at the door of your heart
Please do not despair
God never fails to repair

Take no pain from the past but lessons learnt
You are not a prisoner to hurting but a victor of forgiveness
Open your heart once again
Let the cool breeze of love fill you
The rain of care slowly but surely trickle
Dripping and drizzling like honey dew from the sweetest comb

Love is there hidden in the shadows of these roses so colourful believe me
Smell its refreshing scent and follow it to the wonderland
Love so luscious as the moon
Succulent as the night  
Romantic as a rose
Soothing like a summer rain

Free your mind and free your spirit
Lament no more!
Spit the tastelessness of this test
And turn it into a testimony
From a mess to a message of the future
Frame this shame into a parachute and have a safe landing!

You can be down but not out
Because love is never a race
Love is life and life is love
Always remember: the meaning to life is the pursuit of your heart
What I never did is done
Go ahead and fly your kite

Beyond the storm it will shine again
Because you are the one to paint the rain in the sky
So please don’t cry
The fish are yours to fry
You can choose to fly
And never forget to smile

I read through a box of old letters, old emails,
“old” said from my mouth sounds cleansing
feels like Saturday cleaning
greasy oil over a iron cast giving
way to dark rivers until finally
they run clear

an old me rises for the words
and I run to hug her
“you are so sweet” I tell her

“better love is coming” I want to blurt out
as cheesy and as intense as a first love
a young teen gets
like parting gift of encouragement I want to squeeze her and deliver my message
But, I stop for fear she continue to wait
some sad dark haired Rapunzel

Becoming a jamless  lover of jam waiting for a jar of guava jam when she’s got a whole guava tree in her front yard. she has just got to pick them from  her own tree ,and cook her guavas over her own stove

Our India has roads and railways for miles n miles

Through grasslands, plateus, river banks, mountains n isles

Seeds if we plant; n trees grow to avenues form, on roads all main.

If corporates all, big and small, trees do plant n maintain;

An orchard huge, our country can become; hunger surely vanish will.

Then, miles of boulevards n avenues have we can; fruits will all over spill.

Railway lines for miles, can local trees grow, curry leaves, figs, drumsticks, sugar cane.

School children n unemployed youth can them water, to some incentives gain.

Corporates all, Tata, Godrej, Wadia can advertise their name, under "maintained by"

Imagine luscious mangoes, chickoos, guavas, oranges; needn't we then buy

Flowers, fruits, vegetables export we can; also wood we can,  have in ample

Can some corporate come forward, select an area; & at least lay out a sample.

Imagine this beautiful Motherland of ours; loaded with fruit laden trees;

I am a dreamer, but if turns this to reality; we can have oxygen, food, shade n cool breeze.

Armin Dutia Motashaw

has edible seeds
improves blood sugar control
oval shaped guavas

Durante las fiestas Carmen siempre se auto designaba la niña niñera de la casa. Tras de ella siempre había tres o cuatro niños en filo. Ella los organizaba en grupos y jugaban y si a caso uno se caía Carmen al rescate.

Los niños nunca se cansan pero Carmen de 13 años si, era por esto que ella los sentaba bajo el árbol y les contaba cuentos y si ninguna historia le venía a la mente les contaba hechos innegables.

<<Bueno niños las guavas empezaron como flores blancas>>
<<como azares>> le gritaba Mercedes
quizás eran los tres años de diferencia cuales habían