A limerick ode to Purple Rain

A tree stands, hungover,
wanting, it seems, to be here

Syzygium cumini
Branches untidy
Fruits aplenty.

Drops purple squish, in season
beyond belief and reason.
Ignored by birds, bees and humans
and watching it go waste, such treason.

I try to pick them off the floor
but alway the grit is more.
Damaged and bruised are they by the fall.
I need a net, to catch them all!

Thanks to my faithful reader Sagarika
From the land of Jambudvipa
through these lines I proclaim-a
the plentiful and wild, purple rain-a.


  1. I had no clue
    how the time flew
    a memory of childhood
    outside school it stood
    a friend kept her word
    Something I deeply value


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