Three meager blackberries
not quite formed,
plucked too soon from the vine.

Like us,
you were not quite ripe.

But your sister is with us now.

Sometimes a single apple
Can ruin the whole lot.
Perfect
and shiny
and ruby-red,
crumbling into bruised wrinkles
and spotty, brown lumps.
Before long,
the bowl is brimming with the sundown of a harvest's life,
and flies begin to swarm.
And even when some are left,
bright and fresh,
newly ripe,
I won't go near them,
for fear of turning them over and finding the ugly,
mushy
evidence of their flaws.
Just like the others,
almost worse,
because they allow for an optimism,
in your hunger,
you allow the glimmer of hope
and reach for one
hesitantly.
But no,
it's just like the others,
only deceptive,
pretending to be something that can satiate your needs,
when in truth,
it's just another piece of rotting fruit.

Drops of red drip down my hand it
(looks like blood)
sweet red juice
the cold water is numbing my tingling
hands as I separate arils from peel
one popping bright red jewel at a time
I am learning to be patient with
(traffic and fruit peeling and anger)
myself
this sink room smells like burnt
ramen and popcorn and my socks
stick to the ***** floor
sitting on the ground
against the wall
If this is all there is I swear
I will be happy

Entwined,
heavy with fruit,
she is suspended in time
Caught in a move
endlessly smooth,
her body winds up,
hugging the cold
pillars and walls,
stretching about,
reaching around
and out to the sky.

She can curve it
in every way
on a whim,
however she pleases
... and droplets will shine
on her body like lotion,
or jewelry, playfully teasing,
although frozen, the motion,
warm is her dance
in the hands of the sun
and the tickling breeze

Just like a flower
take your time
soaking up
the brightness
of the sun
and bloom
into a ripe
mature fruit
seducing
the Adams of the
world

India is a traditional nation of high virtues, the compliments from and to an Indian must suit our moral image as described in books and epics. I think that each nation has a rich history at its base. Non-worthy, destructive, insulting, or over frank comments suggestive of other actions must never be made publicly or else emotions and feelings are going to be hurt badly one fine day and nothing can prevent the destruction.

Forbidden fruit hung on the tree in such a fashion that I could not grab it.
I watched the forest fever grow hot near you. Untastable, you hung just so.
Just so.
High on the branch but low to the ground, like an earthbound deity, you swung humbly.
I watched you.
Three thousand happenstances, coordinating dizzily, dropped you in my lap.
How could I not lap you up?
You tasted me
on your way down.
Sifting through me filtered, your poison seeps out my pores.
Last week of ripeness go slow,
I cannot get the taste off my tongue